Water Landing
by camoozle
Summary: High School's a lot like a plane crash. You check for the exit. You secure your mask. And if you're lucky, you survive. AU, AH, All EPOV.
1. Troublesome

CH 1 – Troublesome

…

I'm at Jessica Stanley's party. Only it's not her house. Well, it's her house but instead of the brown microfiber recliner in her living room, there's a roller coaster. One of the wooden ones that knocks your head around and gives you a migraine. There's nothing like being tossed around hundreds of feet above concrete. Or in this case, baby blue shag carpeting. Which is a whole other nightmare.

Anyway, I digress. Back to my dream, because it's a good one. Shit, I've realized it's a dream. Now it won't have that feeling of authenticity. You know, when you wake up and think it really happened and you're happy for a second before you realize it wasn't real. And believe me, I want this dream to be real.

She's in it again.

Rosalie Hale.

I'm kind of in love with her.

She kind of doesn't know I exist.

That's not true, she knows I'm alive. She just doesn't know me, as in actually acknowledging my existence with a gesture of formal or informal greeting, such as a wave or salutation. Or eye roll. Nod. Whatever, I'm not picky.

So, I'm on this roller coaster with Rosalie. She's in a plaid mini-skirt and knee-highs, because apparently my subconscious thinks she's Catholic. She's flirting. Heavily. Her hand's on my knee and it keeps getting closer and closer to my junk. I'm chanting "Do it, do it, do it!" Like a fricking pie eating contest.

The car starts moving and I turn into Marky Mark, from that movie _Fear_. Yeah, you know the scene. I should wake myself up. I think my brain is trying to tell me this obsession is insane.

I'm not crazy. I'm only Internet stalking her. You know, the usual. I Googled her, bookmarked her Facebook. I might be following her twitter under the alias kittensRkute22. Honestly, I'm more worried about the twenty-one people who thought kittensRkute was a clever username.

I feel like a creep but I'm vaguely aware of that "blow a load in your sleep" phenomenon, so I stick it out. You know, for the sake of the twins.

I start filling in the details. Rosalie bites my lip. I lick her neck. She pulls my hair and I grab her boob. I'm so close but then my little sister's on the roller coaster with us. Only she's not supposed to be on roller coasters because she's seven months pregnant.

She's lecturing me on how I'm inappropriate and I yell at her to leave me alone and let me get my rocks off. She can't hear me over the _clack, clack, clack_ of the coaster.

This dream just turned ten shades of fucked up.

"Edward! Wake up! I need you to drive me to school today!" Alice is banging on my bedroom door.

I groan and throw my pillow in the door's general direction.

"Get up!" She pounds again. "Ugh, I'm getting Mom!"

I open my eyes and try to find a comfortable situation in my pants. Comfortable situations are not my forte. I'm more of a painfully awkward lord of shame.

"Edward, honey? Can you open the door please?"

Ugh. So annoying. I throw my comforter to the floor and crack open the door to find my mom in one of her pink suits. She's a real estate agent. Looks like she's ready for a full day of cold calls and postcards.

"Sweetie, I know it's asking a lot, but can you please take Alice to school today?" Alice peeks over my mom's massive shoulder pad and flips me off. Bitch.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." I try to close my door but my mom has more to say. She barges in, Alice right behind her.

"I also need you to take her to her appointment this afternoon."

"Jesus, Mom! People always look at me weird. Like I'm the one who did that to her." I gesture to her huge bulging melon of a gut. "I'm pretty sure it's causing irrevocable harm."

"I really need you to help me out with this." My mom fluffs her hair in my mirror. In case you hadn't noticed, perfect hair equals success. At least it does here. In middle class suburbia hell.

I live in Riverside, Illinois, about ten minutes west of Chicago. My town has two high schools. There's the new, modern school, a brick monstrosity but each kid has their own laptop. Then there's the old school that used to be swank thirty years ago, but now it's a shithole and has metal detectors.

Guess which school I go to.

My parents didn't want Alice and me at the same school because they were afraid we'd have identity issues or something. When it came time to enroll, they sent me to the shit school. You know, because dealing with controversy builds character. Plus, Alice is their favorite. They don't even try to hide it anymore.

At least my school has a decent music department. I play the trumpet in the marching band. I've been playing since elementary school and I'm damn good too.

"So, I can count on you to pick her up?" my mom asks again and I sigh.

"Yeah. I can do it." I push past the two of them and my sister's scowling as she waddles after me. She's wearing this dark purple skirt and a long black sweater. She's all into the goth look right now. Her jet black hair is spiked, her pale skin is perfectly powdery. She looks like the Penguin. You know, from Batman.

"Pick me up in front of the school, so I don't have to search the parking lot for you. My ankles are like tree trunks."

"Okay." I make it to the bathroom and try to shut the door but her tree trunk is in the way.

"And the camera crew will be at the appointment today so you need to be on your best behavior." Alice is capitalizing off the general public's propensity to use people who screw up their lives as entertainment. There's this show, _16 and Pregnant_. Have you seen this? It's a reality show for pregnant chicks. It's fucking ridiculous. My sister's on this show. She sent in this sob story audition tape about how her parents are estranged and her boyfriend knocked her up and then bolted.

Solid gold bullshit.

Our parents have been married for like, twenty years or something. They always claim they're too poor to get divorced, but that's bullshit too. My dad's got stock options like a champ. He's stacked. He wants us to think he's poor so we won't ask him for cash.

And Jasper, the boyfriend who bolted? Naw, he's just dumb in love. Alice broke up with him temporarily so she could be on this show. She said she wouldn't let love come before her career. I don't know if she realizes when she has this kid, she's no longer marketable.

"I know," I say. "I won't say anything inappropriate. No fat jokes."

She still won't move.

"Thanks, Edward," she says and her eyes are soft. And puffy. Then she's just my kid sister, stuck in shitty situation. Yeah, she brought it on herself, but she's still my sister. And I love her.

She finally lets me close the door. I have exactly twenty minutes to shower, dress and drop Alice off at her school.

I can't help it. I whack off and I'm late. Again.

I park in the student lot and make sure the alarm is set. I also put a club on the steering wheel. I don't actually have a key to it or anything, but I feel more comfortable with it looking like it's locked down.

My car's a piece of shit. I got my dad's old Volvo when he bought his new Mercedes. Alice got a fully restored '68 Camaro SS. Because she thought it was pretty. Two days later she told my parents she was pregnant. She blew out the engine last week. Red-lined all the live long day, chewed up the gears, spent seventy in second. The shit she put that magnificent machine through keeps me up at night.

I head to the front gate. It's the only gate that's open. One way in, one way out. Like a prison. I empty my pockets and the narc checks my backpack. No guns, no knives, no drugs. Just a shitload of books that are giving me Scoliosis. They had to take out all the lockers because kids were stashing contraband.

"Late again, huh, Edward?" Peter is cool. He lets me leave early once in a while because my mom found him a sweet deal on a foreclosure last year. And he knows my dad. Everyone knows my dad. He's a marriage and family counselor. The only one in the whole town.

"It ain't easy looking this pretty," I joke and Peter laughs. He thinks I'm hilarious. He graduated a couple years ago, went straight on to get a job working for the school district. People don't seem to make it far out of town. And those who do, rarely come back.

My parents both went to this high school. Met here, dated here, got engaged on the football field. Like fucking fate or some shit.

My mom's parents met here too. Even went to my same elementary school. They lived here for fifty years before buying a Winnebago and heading out on the road. They're like a two-man traveling circus. My grandma claims she's a contortionist. I don't challenge her because I'm afraid she'll try to prove it.

The halls are pretty deserted and my sneakers squeak on the polished linoleum as I skid around the corner, right smack into a wall of pectoral perfection. Emmett McCarty. High school student extraordinaire. Captain of the water polo team. Student body vice president. Fucker's smart too, a mathematical genius or some shit.

He's kind of my idol.

"Whoa, dude. You cool?" he asks.

"Hey, Emmett, yeah. Sorry about that man, woke up late." Like he cares.

"Choking the chicken, huh?" he laughs and I laugh along. Yuk, yuk, yuk…

He saunters off, cool as ever. And I'm about two inches tall.

I slide into American Government undetected. Snore. My teacher, Mr. Willis, insists on calling on every student in the class at least once, every single day. Only he's got a lazy eye so I'm not exactly sure when he's speaking to me.

I'm sitting next to the door and my buddy Jake keeps trying to get my attention from the other side of the room. He saved me a seat. Yeah, he's insane if he thinks I'm going to incur the wrath of sly eye Willis.

Instead, I ignore him and focus on federalist clauses. Because, you know, I might need that information someday. But he won't leave me alone. He's making lewd gestures with his hands and gyrating his hips.

"Mr. Black," Willis catches him in an awkward position and now it's time for the show. Jake's a douche. He really doesn't care who knows it.

Jake checks over his shoulders then leans to the left so Willis can see him with his good-eye.

"Is he talking to me?" Jake says to Angela, this shy, shrinking violet type. She's mortified. I don't blame her. He clears his throat, sits up straight.

"Yes, Mr. Willis, sir?"

"Mr. Black, do you need something?" Mr. Willis is staring right at Angela and it's making her uncomfortable. She doesn't like confrontation, especially when she's not really the one being confronted.

"Oh, um, yeah. I was just telling Edward over there that I have his homework. He couldn't quite get up this morning." Jake winks at me and I grit my teeth. Jake's been suspended twice this year. One more and he's expelled, doesn't get to graduate. I've kind of been watching his ass.

Willis is looking at me now. I think.

"Mr. Masen. Tardiness will not be tolerated. We have rules for a reason. Do you know what patriots did to those who chose to spit upon the rules of society?" He waits. I think the question's rhetorical.

It's not.

"Mr. Masen, I expect an answer!" Now Willis is yelling at Eric Yorkie, the dude who sits next to me.

"Tar and feather?" I blurt because Eric looks like he wants to stab me.

Mr. Willis recoils. Takes a step back. He looks shocked.

"Well, yes, actually. That is correct. It's a shame they only allow _me_ to hand out detentions. You'll be joining the rest of the deserters for Saturday school this weekend. I hope you didn't have any plans."

Fuck. There goes my weekend.

Not that I had plans. I was going to see the new X-Men movie and maybe stop by Game Stop on my way home. But now my hours of self-indulgent entertainment will have to wait yet another week.

When the bell rings, I jet but Jake's fast. I don't really want to talk to him. This is just like third grade when he blamed me for throwing spit-wads at the ceiling in the boy's bathroom. He barely got in trouble while I was sent home with a referral. It's like everyone expects the worst from him. He's from a single-parent household and is harboring some real feelings of abandonment because of his mom leaving and shit.

My dad's his therapist.

"Dude, I owe you. I can't believe he gave you Saturday school. What a dick!"

"Right, he's the dick," I mutter as I dodge some freshman's flying notebook. Jake slaps a paper on my chest.

"Here, I'll make it up to you. I snaked the answers from Allman while she was taking a piss." Mrs. Allman's like a hundred years old and has polio. She's in a wheelchair. Hardly a mission impossible.

"Thanks," I say and shove the paper into my notebook. Jake steals the answers every week. I never use them. Don't need to. Unlike the rest of the student body, I have excellent spelling. Who gives spelling tests in high school anyway?

We split at the quad and I head up to the band room. Jake refuses to walk in that direction with me. He thinks it will damage his street cred. But I don't mind being a band geek. I get great seats to every football game, and a bomb ass uniform. What other extra-curricular activity do you get to wear gauntlets? Maybe fencing. That might be the only hobby cooler than band.

The trumpet is by far the coolest of the marching band instruments. I mean, the sax is badass but it's so damn heavy. Too many valves. I like to keep it simple. Plus, it's easy to woo the ladies with promises of flutter tonguing and fingering.

"Hey, it's the bugle boy!" Mike's part of the front ensemble. It's hard to take an insult from the guy who plays the cow bell. I've been friends with Mike since kindergarten. The first time I saw him, he was latched onto his mom's leg and screaming. Later that day, he hit me in the face and stole my trike.

"X-Men is playing at the Belair tonight and my mom's making meatloaf. Ben said he'd drive if we wait until he gets off work." Ben has a big truck, kick-ass for the drive-in.

"I have to take my sister to her appointment." I open my trumpet case and pull out my instrument. I attach the mouthpiece, wet my lips and give it a good blow.

"Are the cameras going to be there?" Mike asks. Every time he comes over, he makes a point to talk to my sister just so he'll be on television. I don't know if he's familiar with the editing process.

"Unfortunately," I mutter and then stretch my jaw.

"Does she want to go to the movies with us?" he asks.

"Are you insane? Those cameras are the bane of my existence."

"Dude, help a brother out," Mike shrugs. "I'm relying on this to get me into the entertainment industry. I have star power, you know?"

I can't tell if he's serious. That's scary shit, right there.

After band, I have Calculus and then Lit. Seniors don't really have to take a fourth year of math, but it was either this or Advanced Chemistry. I guess I'd rather play with numbers than risk losing a limb in an explosion.

After reading a million pages of Shakespeare sonnets, I head to lunch. I hate eating in the cafeteria. It's just way too…social. It's where the assholes at this school go to flaunt their availability. Or claim their clique. Me? It's where I go to buy two chocolate fudge cookies and can of Dr. Pepper before heading out to the stadium steps to meet the guys.

I've hung with the same group of bastards since elementary school. Like I said, Mike and me go way back. Jake moved here in the third grade. He offered to split his collection of Yu-Gi-Oh cards if I'd be his friend. Even back in the day, he was a schemer. Ben's a relatively new addition. We met him in middle school. P.E. He was the only one of us with any real coordination, so we stuck with him to avoid the inevitable pummeling. If we hid behind him, we could delay the onslaught for at least a week.

I make my way through the gross assortment of nutritional fallacies and purchase my cookies and soda and then I see her. Rosalie. All gorgeous and shit. She's got on these short black pants and they're real tight. Man, she's got a nice ass. I mean, she's brilliant and totally cool. But damn, the girl is fine. She's sitting with her usual group, mostly academia types. Not nerds, mind you. These are competitive academic decathletes.

Lauren Malloy, Emmett McCarty, Tyler Crowley, and the two exchange students Vladmir and Stefan. I don't even know how they got into that crowd. They're the only dudes at this school who can get away with wearing loafers and skinny jeans and still be accepted by the top dogs on campus.

They're engaged in conversation, probably a political debate or thoughts on string theory. Whatever it is, it's got Rose heated. Her violet eyes are on fire, her hands flying through the air, the soft blonde curls swaying. She uses her entire body to make her point. I know she's right. I don't even care what she's arguing, I agree with her.

Suddenly, she looks up and catches me staring at her. Like some creepy weirdo. God, I'm an idiot! I hope I'm not drooling. That would not help my cause.

I'm considering changing my name and moving to Mexico when she smiles. And waves. At me.

I look behind me, just to make sure what I'm seeing is reality and not one of my masturbatory fantasies. No one's even remotely close. She has to be waving at _me_.

I wave back. I think. Then she calls my name.

"Edward!"

My name. Out of her mouth. Her tongue pressed against her teeth and she breathed and said my name.

I'm getting hard. No shit.

_Be cool. Be cool. Be cool_.

I walk over to her table and Emmett's drinking one of those carbonated waters. Normally, I'd brand this douchey, but something about the way he doesn't give a shit makes it cool. Genius, social genius.

"Hey," I nod. The Romanian brothers ignore me. Tyler's got Lauren on his lap and she's looking at my shoes. Apparently, they meet her approval because when her eyes meet mine, she's coy. Flirty even. That's not awkward at all.

Rose is seated in her chair, a halo glowing around her glorious face. She's wearing this blue sweater and these red and white striped shoes that let her toes show. There's little flowers painted on them. Her golden hair is held back by a black ribbon. Like Alice in fucking Wonderland.

"It is Edward, right?" She said my name again. I wonder if I could discreetly record that shit on my phone. I'm going to try.

"Hey, Rosalie. Rose. Or Rosalie. What do you like to be called?" I stutter. Jesus! Why can't I stop talking?

"Rose is perfect," she grins. Yes, yes she is. Even her teeth are perfect.

"What's up?" I ask and casually sit down at her table. I'm sitting at her table.

"You're friends with Jake Black, right? He said you might be looking for a tutor in Calculus." She slides her card over to me. She has a business card for tutoring. With her phone number on it. Her real one.

"I'm available during sixth period if you want to meet in the library. My rates are on the website." Oh. Right. I'm going to have to pay her to hang out with me. It's common knowledge Rosalie Hale doesn't date. She's too busy planning her vast empire.

"Um, okay. I, uh, I'll see if I have some free time in my schedule." Yeah, I kind of don't have a schedule. Unless you count the prime-time line up on the history channel. All Nazis, all the time.

I get up and walk away and she doesn't say my name again. Goddamn Jake. He probably thinks he's doing me a favor but now I just feel like a jerk. A stupid jerk who can't do math.

I leave after lunch so I can pick up my sister. My mom has to call to get me out of class. I don't turn eighteen until the end of the school year. All my classmates were held back a year, started kindergarten late so they'd have an edge. My parents didn't get the memo, I guess. Well, not until Alice started school. She's sixteen, but she just started tenth grade this year.

I pull up in front of her school, a big beautiful brick building and she's already outside. Her camera team is waiting with her and she looks annoyed. Probably because I'm like two minutes late.

"You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago," she shouts at me as she opens the door.

"You said one-thirty." I check my clock. It's quarter after. I was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.

The camera guy and producer get in the back seat and Alice starts narrating. He's got this camera leaning against my face and I'm expected to drive safely.

"I'm twenty-eight weeks today and am going to my midwife for a regular visit. She'll probably check my cervix for dilation or softening, even though I'm super far from having to worry about that." Alice thinks her cervix is very important.

"Why did you choose a home birth?" The producer asks and Alice is ready for this question.

"I want as little intervention as possible. Child birth is a natural process. I just want to let my body do what it was designed to do." This from the sixteen year old girl bringing a human into the world. A human! The whole idea is completely sick and twisted.

"Oh! Can we stop at Jack in the Box? I want a milkshake," Alice blurts.

"No, we're already late," I mutter and then the camera's on me. "Besides, Jack in the Crack is hardly _natural_."

"How do you feel about Alice's choice to have a home birth? Are you planning to be there for the delivery?" The producer asks. I almost vomit in my mouth. Seriously, I have to choke it back. I already know way too much about her cervix.

"Um, home births are cool," I say and Alice gives me a warning glance. I'm trying to be as boring as possible so they won't ask me any more questions. But my kid sister is looking at me and there's a plea in her eyes. So I sigh and think of something positive to say.

"It's a pretty brave thing to do. Kinda scary. But Alice can do it. She's the toughest person I know." My sister looks like she's gonna cry.

I park and the moment they leave the car, I dig through my glove box and find my stash. I have at least an hour wait ahead of me. I open the bag and inhale. I love that smell. Some people think it's awful and it does bad stuff to your teeth but I can't give it up.

CornNuts are delicious. Alice hates them so I can't really eat them at home. I stash them in the only place she has zero jurisdiction, my piece-of-shit Volvo.

After her appointment, I drive through Jack in the Crack so she can get her damn milkshake. My mom's waiting at the door, anxious to hear how the appointment went. She asks a billion questions and they disappear upstairs, the camera crew following her the entire time.

My dad's reading mail at the kitchen counter. I grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and it fizzes around my fingers. I lick the residue and my dad glances up from his mail, his glasses perched on his nose.

"Hey Sport," he says. He always calls me Sport. I think he forgot my name.

"Hey Dad." I stand there for a good five minutes and sip my soda. I'm about to head up to my room when he decides it's time for conversation.

"How's school? What have you been up to?" He leafs through a L.L. Bean catalog, and I almost want to give him a red pen so he can circle all the stuff he wants.

"It's school. I'm going to the movies tonight."

"Not too late, though. You have school tomorrow." Licks his finger, turns the page.

"Okay," I answer. Like he'd notice

He doesn't notice when I leave the room.

I start up my computer so I can do my homework. At least that's what I tell myself. In reality I'm about to indulge in my daily Facebook/Google stalking.

I check my messages, scope statuses. The usual. Tanya Denali had a salad for dinner because she's trying to lose fifteen pounds. Sam Uley likes sarcasm society. Tyler Crowley's having a party this Saturday. Which reminds me. I have Saturday school.

I wonder if I should tell my parents.

…

"Dude, your cousin's hot," Mike says as he slurps his cherry slurpee. The popcorn is fresh. Mike always gets us the good stuff from the food court.

I raise my eyebrows at him and he shrugs. Mike's gay, he just doesn't know it yet. He wears sweater vests and took art appreciation two years in a row.

"Dick!" Jake shoves Mike hard in the chest and he almost falls off his Outdoor Patio Madaga wicker chaise. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

Mike works at the Target with Jake's cousin, Leah, and half the teenage population of Riverside, Illinois. They work at the Target in Broadview, as opposed to Jake's sisters, who work at the Target in Cicero. Yes, we have to leave town just to go to Target.

We chill on the patio furniture in the garden section. It's the best place to hide out. No one really pays much attention to the patio furniture, unless they're in the market. Even then, they've usually done their research and know exactly what they want. And they end up ordering it online.

Mike gets us the popcorn combo and we people watch. Moms with their herds of offspring, grazing the aisles and taking up way too much space. Couples buying cleaning supplies for their first home. Pregnant ladies registering for baby shit. Then there's my peer group. If they don't work here, then they're loitering and shoplifting. Which is really selfish, by the way. Most of these kids come from loaded families. They get allowances and gas money and shit. They're sucking up all the shoplifting karma from those who really need it.

"I'm supposed to be doing a lot of things," Mike says as he tosses a piece of popcorn in the air.

"Oh, I almost forgot. You're an asshole," I say to Jake and he shrugs.

"Yeah, so?"

"Did you talk to Rosalie Hale about me?" I ask.

"No," he says, then thinks for a minute. "Maybe."

"Not cool, dude."

"I was just trying to help a brother out." He's flabbergasted.

"By making me look like a tool? Besides, I'm not really into her anymore." I'm trying to throw the dog off the scent.

But Jake just laughs, a loud, annoying guffaw that catches the attention of a family of four. The lady gives us a dirty look but this just makes Jake laugh louder.

"You've got a bigger hard-on for Rosalie Hale than Ron Jeremy at a handcuff convention. Not really that into her? Dude, at this rate you never will be."

"Didn't you try to hook up with Lauren at the bowling alley last night? I heard she shot you down pretty hard. Called you a self-indulgent prick or something?" Mike's mouth is full of popcorn but I appreciate the sentiment.

"I am a self-indulgent prick. Not my fault she doesn't want to drink the kool-aid. I have plenty of other takers." He leans back on the lounge chair, his hands behind his head.

Jake's bravado is not unfounded. He really does get a lot of ass. I have no idea why. He's good-looking, I guess, but he's a total dickhead. He treats girls like shit and doesn't even try to hide it. I guess his confidence is what they're attracted to.

Don't get me wrong, I've had my fair share of admirers. Jessica's been trying to get with me since eighth grade. We went to a dance together and she tried to kiss me. I freaked out and ran home. I felt really bad about it and have been trying to make it up to her ever since. I hang out with her a lot. She's cool, but there's no chemistry. I realize this is a thing assholes say, but I get it. I never wake up with a massive boner when I have dreams about Jessica.

I had a summer fling once with this girl from Charleston. We were vacationing there two summers ago. She gave me my first blow job. It wasn't meant to be. She dumped me at the end of the summer. Said she had a lot of living to do, which I very wrongly interpreted as she had a lot of dicks to suck. We parted ways, and not on good terms.

It doesn't matter though. Not a girl in the world can hold a candle to Rosalie Hale.

...

**A/N:**

So, I'm tapping into my inner teenage boy for this story. All Edward's POV. Dick and fart jokes galore. Hopefully, I'll be able to post weekly.

Special thanks to my **Boo**, for prereading and general hilarious fuckery.

**LightStarDusting** is my drug of choice. She's also beta'ing this bastard. Because she likes dick and fart jokes too.

Thank you for reading!


	2. I Get Around

CH 2 – I Get Around

…

Should I call her?

I stare at her card. She gave it to me, so she must want me to call her. Of course, it's because she thinks I'm an idiot and I'm going to give her money. But hey, I'm not picky.

I pick up the phone and dial the digits but the call goes straight to voicemail.

_Thank you for calling Rosalie Hale, academic facilitator. _

I wonder if my number shows up unknown. And how many times can I call before she gets weirded out?

_I'm currently with another client. Please leave your name, phone number and area of study and I'll get back to you within the next twenty-four hours. Have a great learning day!_

The beep catches me off guard, even though I've been utilizing voicemail for at least a decade.

"Um, hi, Rose. Er, Rosalie Hale. This is Edward Masen. Phone number is 867-5309. I need help in math. Calculus." Oh my God, I'm a complete tool. Hang up!

"Have a great day," I mumble before hanging up the phone. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

I venture out into the living room and collapse on the couch. I want to die. I want to shrivel up and die right here on this plaid twill sofa. Just as I'm contemplating running away to the ministry, Alice and her camera crew explode through the front door.

"I'm busy with rehearsals for my play. It's an original script, written and directed by yours truly. Opening night is in five weeks and I'm just hoping I don't have any complications that would take me away from that." Alice wants to be an actress. She smears her belly with cocoa butter morning, noon and night to protect against stretch marks.

I turn on the TV, trying to force them into another room, but Alice sits down on the couch right next to me. Once she's down, she's not likely to get up. The producer asks her how she plans to juggle the responsibilities of parenthood with her career aspiration, and she tells them what she told my parents.

"If Angelina Jolie can do it, so can I," she says confidently.

She's actually really talented. Her ability to alter her personality on cue is impressive. And she's able to conjure up the most asinine rationalizations for shit. Like the time she stole my car so she could go clubbing with her friends. She told my parents their rules were stifling her creativity.

"I need a variety of life experiences to draw from," she had said. "At least I'm not on drugs. When Drew Barrymore was my age, she'd already been to rehab twice."

And my parents, in their effort to create an environment primed for prodigious development, handed over their credit card. You know, for emergencies.

"Edward! Alice! Dinner's on!" My mom yells from the kitchen. She's wearing an apron over her pantsuit and she rushes from the room to reapply her lipstick.

"I'm going out," Alice yells back and my mom peeks her head into the living room. The cameraman hones in, the potential for a dramatic showdown whetting his appetite for familial conflict.

"But I made your favorite, veggie lasagna," my mom says, heartbroken. She glances at the camera, practically willing her eyes to mist.

"Put it in the fridge. I'll eat it when I get home. Jasper's picking me up in fifteen."

"I thought you broke up," I say. A thousand channels and there's never anything on.

"We were on a break. We're trying to work things out for the baby," Alice scoffs. Her hand rests affectionately on the massive goiter spilling from her abdomen.

"Why can't Jasper come here? We can play Scattegories," my mom suggests and Alice blows up.

"I never get to do anything! I just need to get out of this house!" She storms upstairs, the crew like hungry hyenas scrambling to get a piece of the kill. She slams a door and my mom's quick to apologize.

"You're right, honey. You've been under a lot of stress lately. It's not good for the baby," she yells upstairs and Alice reemerges, leaning over the banister.

"That's what I was trying to tell you! But you never listen to me." Just then there's a honk, and Alice and her pack are out the door.

Jasper never comes in. He's afraid of my parents. They have a tendency to be a little overprotective of Alice.

"Be careful!" Mom yells after her. Her timer goes off and she hurries to check her lasagna.

We sit at the dining table and wait for Dad to get home. He's almost always home by seven but tonight he's running late. My mom refuses to eat without him.

I stare at my empty plate, the casserole dish in front of me steaming with fresh, homemade tomato sauce and melted cheese. My mom clears her throat a dozen times, tries to find something she can talk to me about, but it's futile. We have nothing in common.

"No game tonight?" she asks and I shake my head.

"Nope, we have a bye."

"What do you have planned for this weekend?" She folds her napkin for the tenth time. Rectangle. Square. Repeat.

"I have Saturday school," I say, tracing the pattern of the table cloth with my butter knife.

"Oh, is that an extra credit program?" she asks and I smirk.

"Kind of," I say and she nods.

"You need that extra credit if you want to get into a good college. Have you started applying?" My mom went to a private university. Thirty-thousand dollars a year. She majored in liberal studies.

"Nope," I say and my Dad walks through the door. She jumps up to greet him.

"Daddy's home!" she announces and I cringe. I hate it when she calls him that. It reminds me of this porno I watched once.

"How was your day?" She takes his coat and briefcase as he settles into his chair at the head of the table. He exhales, takes a look around, and frowns.

"Where's Alice?" he asks.

"She went out." My mom serves him a large rectangle of lasagna, bustling around the table like an excited puppy.

He takes a deep breath, removes his glasses, and rubs his eyes. He's disappointed.

He doesn't say another word, just digs into his cheesy noodles and we spend the rest of the meal in silence.

I retire to my room, intent on watching a few episodes of _Top Gear_. Maybe play a few races on Forza in my underwear. I'm twenty minutes into an endurance race when my cell phone goes off. I think it might be Rose. But it's just a text. From Jessica.

She's drunk and stranded at Tyler Crowley's house. Damn, it's not even ten yet.

I put my pants back on and get in my car. I've picked her up from Tyler's house three weekends in a row. You'd think she'd just ask me to tag along by now. Merely out of convenience.

Lauren's standing on the porch with her when I pull up to the house. It's cold out and all I can see is the fog of her breath swirling around her face. She's been crying. And she's petting her phone.

"Edward!" she whines when she sees me, her arms wrapping around my neck. "My hero!"

I put my arm around her waist, supporting her weight as she drags her feet to my car.

"I love you, Edward. You're so good to me. You're just a great, great guy," she says. I help her into the front seat and buckle her seatbelt. She keeps talking about how nice I am but she's having trouble with her consonant blends. Her body's shivering so I give her my heavy flannel jacket and crank up the heat.

"Keep your eyes open, Jess." Last time she passed out in my car, she puked.

Just as I'm pulling out of the driveway, my phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer and clear my throat. I turn off the radio, turn down the heater. I wish I could turn off Jessica.

"Hi, Edward? This is Rosalie Hale, academic facilitator?" Like she needs an introduction.

"Why doesn't Mike like me?" Jessica asks me. Apparently she can't tell from the look of panic and trepidation on my face that I am having a very, very important conversation.

"I don't know, Jess," I whisper to her and then turn my attention back to Rosalie.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound cool. And if by cool, I mean completely lame then I succeed immensely.

"I see here you're looking for assistance in Calculus. I can meet with you on Mondays, from two to three in the library. If that works with your schedule."

Shit, I have band practice from two to three every day. But some sacrifices are expected in light of my recent dissension with derivatives.

"That would be great," I stammer.

"Payment is expected prior to each session and if you are more than ten minutes tardy, you forfeit the fee and your session. I'll see you on Monday!" _Click_ and she's gone.

What the fuck just happened here? I don't know what I was expecting but that was just…sterile.

"Did Mike say anything to you about me?" Jessica's been talking to herself this whole time.

I look over at her. She's leaning back on the headrest, her eyes filled with tears, and relying on me for the answer. She wants me to tell her Mike is madly in love with her, he's just too insecure to do anything about it. The truth is Jessica's not packing the right equipment but I can't tell her that. She'd cry and get snot and mascara all over my flannel.

"Mike's just immature. Why do you want him anyway? He's a mama's boy." She smiles and sighs, wiping the corner of her eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. She's not convinced. "Seriously, have you met his mom? She's batshit crazy."

Now she's laughing and crying. And my jacket is ruined. Damn. I really liked that one, too.

"I know," she says as I park in her driveway. "But I can't just stop loving him. We had such a great relationship. I just don't want to let that go."

"Really? You liked staying up until all hours of the night waiting for him to call?" I ask and she rolls her eyes. She knows I'm right. Their relationship was a disaster. "Jess, you'll find someone else. I promise you."

She has tears in her eyes and she throws her arms around my neck again.

"You're the best," she mumbles against my cheek.

"I know," I say and she laughs, her arms tightening around my neck.

I try to pull away from her but the tension in her arms changes. She leans back, her eyes shiny and circled with black. It happens in slow motion. Her eyes flutter, she licks her lips, her face moves closer and closer and I start to panic. This can't be happening.

I don't have the heart to reject her. Not while she's drunk and all emotional like this. Besides, she probably won't even remember this in the morning.

I let her plant one on me. She smooshes her wet, snotty face against mine, exhaling in what I'm sure she thinks is a sigh of passion and I keep my lips sealed. She tries to deepen the kiss, her hands pull my hair and I don't know how much longer I can hold my breath.

"Jess," I garble but she's lost in the moment. I'm starting to get claustrophobic. I'm on the verge of hyperventilating when we're interrupted by a loud thud. Mr. Stanley's fist is pressed against my window and in his other hand, a fucking golf club.

"Get your hands off her, you disgusting little prick!"

I shove Jessica away from me. She gets all offended and starts to cry. Great, this is turning into an episode of CSI. Tri-state area edition.

I reach across her to open the door because there is no way in hell I'm getting out of the car. Mr. Stanley moves to the passenger door, but instead of reaching for his daughter, he reaches over her and grabs my shirt.

"Dad! Stop it!" Now Jessica's screaming and her neighbors are starting to get nosy so he lets me go.

"Mr. Stanley, sir," I try to explain but he can't hear me over the commotion his daughter is making so I get out of the car. He refuses to listen and I sit there on the icy lawn while he gives me the verbal raping of a lifetime. He finally stops when Jessica pukes all over the sidewalk in front of their house. He drags her inside, threatens to call the cops if he ever sees me around his daughter again and then slams the door in my face.

…

Saturday school is an institution deemed an acceptable form of behavior modification not only by the state of Illinois, but the federal government as well. I find this incredibly disturbing. Basically, we are at the disposal of our supervising instructor for six hours. During this time, said supervisor may assign any duties he or she finds acceptable and/or necessary. This could be anything from grading papers to cleaning frog guts out of the biology lab sinks.

Karma must be on my side today, because Mr. Cullen is supervising. Not only is Mr. Cullen the coolest teacher at my school, he's also the band director. Today's going to be a cake walk. And I think I deserve a little cake, especially after the incident last night.

Jessica texted me an apology this morning but I didn't have a chance to respond. Most of the message was in text speak, but the gist was she explained everything to her dad and things were cool. Sideways smiley face.

"Edward Masen, this is a surprise." It's a shock to see Mr. Cullen in a t-shirt and jeans. He's one dapper son-of-a-bitch normally and seeing him without his three piece suit is weird. Too informal. Like he's just a normal guy.

I mean, he is a normal guy. He grew up here, just like my parents. Left for college but came back when his mom died or something and he's been here ever since.

I know all this because this town gossips something fierce. It's like the thriving life force behind the community.

"I need a new alarm clock," I shrug and he motions for me to have a seat. He hands me a plastic bag for my cell phone, keys and any other shit I might have in my pockets that could be a distraction. Or used as a weapon.

"Let's see that you take care of that, sir," he replies. I nod and hand him the bag. He writes my last name on it with a Sharpie and I wait for the festivities to begin.

Attendance is sparse this particular Saturday. There's me and two burn outs, Sam and Paul. Then there's Felix who has managed to get assigned Saturday school for the duration of his high school tenure. He used to go to my sister's school but I think he stabbed someone. His dad is on the school board so he's on probation or something.

They sent him to my school. As punishment.

I give him a nod and he grunts back. Not bad. I'll take it.

"Let me just mark off the no-shows and we'll get to work." Mr. Cullen pulls out a pen to mark at least ten names off the page.

"Wait! I'm here," this girl says as the door slams shut. All three of us swivel around to find this tiny chick in a big puffy gray coat that takes up more space than she does. She pulls the hood down and she seems oddly familiar. She walks by me like I'm not even there and dumps the contents of her pockets on the table.

"Miss Hale, just in time! Perhaps you should converse with Mr. Masen over there. It seems you both take issue with punctuality." She whips her head around and Mr. Cullen doesn't look up but I'm sure this chick notices the shock, horror and elation of my current mental and emotional state.

Bella Hale. Rosalie's little sister.

I haven't seen her since elementary school. She used to be good friends with my sister but when they went their separate ways for middle school, they lost contact. She's a junior, but sixteen like Alice. In fact, I kind of forgot she existed. There aren't even any pictures of her on Rosalie's Facebook. Which only now, seems a little weird.

Bella's dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark makeup. Even her small stature seems to put her in the shadow. Her skin is the contradiction. This she shares with her sister; the same perfect, pearly complexion.

She takes off her coat and she's even smaller than I thought. She's wearing this shirt that has these corny wolves on it, like a scene out of some Native American folktale or something, with these black leggings tucked into striped socks. And she's wearing like, little kid's shoes. The kind with a buckle. I'm starting to think there might be something really wrong with this girl. This cannot be Rose's sister.

Just then, our eyes meet. Intense. There's straight venom in her stare. I don't know, it might just be the steel bar through her eyebrow that's intimidating, but I make a mental note to avoid eye contact with her at all costs. My assessments will have to be made at a distance.

She whips her long hair around, a poofy mound of brown and red. And purple. And blue. Girl's got rainbow hair.

"Okay, troops. We're cleaning out my closet today so if you'll kindly make your way to the band room, we can get started and assign duties." Mr. Cullen claps his hands and motions for us to get a move on.

Felix stands up and Bella folds her arms across her chest as we make our way to the door. They're talking about some death metal band, from what I can gather. I guess they're friends. One of the stoners keeps sniffling and the other one looks like he's about to fall over. It's like some twisted version of the Breakfast Club. I guess I'm the nerdy one.

Mr. Cullen wants us to make piles, sort through instruments, music books, paper, trophies, costumes and other various crap. He puts me in charge of instruments. I'm supposed to sort the salvageable from the trash. Which is probably more labor intensive than any of the other jobs assigned, but I get it. I'm the only one with any experience with this shit.

I'm about to toss some tarnished cymbals when I see striped socks from my seat on the floor.

"Ketchup will clean those right up, you know."

Bella crouches in front of me to pick up the circles of brass for closer inspection.

"It's the acid, from the tomatoes. Eats right through the tarnish."

"I think that's a myth," I say. "I've always just used Windex."

"Do you have extensive experience with cymbal cleaning?" she asks me, amused.

"I've been known to buff a cymbal or two," I shrug and she laughs. Loud. Too loud for a person of her size.

"You're funny," she observes. "What's your name again?"

"Edward Masen," I mumble and she narrows her eyes.

"I know you." She's trying to place me. It's only a matter of time before she connects me to my sixteen year old sexually irresponsible little sister with a proclivity for reality shows.

"I've seen you at football games. You're like the tallest person in the band." Great. Now I'm the jolly green trumpet playing giant.

"Yeah, well, the hat adds a good six inches." She laughs again and I like the way it sounds. People rarely laugh at my jokes. I like it that she does.

"I think you might know my sister, Alice. She's over at Kennedy," I add.

"Oh, right!" Bella pulls out a piece of gum and folds the strip into her mouth. "Man, she's a blast from the past. How's she doing?"

"She's knocked up," I say. Bella offers a foiled stick and I accept.

"You're going to be an uncle," she says. She wipes the corner of her eye and sits, crossing her legs beneath her.

"I haven't really given it much thought," I shrug.

"What? Oh my God, if my sister were having a kid, it'd be all I could think about! Uncles are really important, you know. My uncle used to take me to the library every Saturday. Just me. It was the best day of my week."

"What happened to him?" I ask. "I mean, do you still see him?"

"No," she says, wiping her eye again. "He moved to Washington a couple years ago. My contacts are bugging the shit out of me. I'm going to see if I can fix them."

Shit. Did I offend her or something? I bet she doesn't even really wear contacts.

I finish cleaning my designated section and the whole time I'm waiting for Bella to come back but she never reappears. Mr. Cullen gives us forty minutes for lunch and I head out on foot to grab a burrito from this little Mexican place down the street.

I'm at the crosswalk when I see Bella on the opposite corner, leaning into the window of an old Nissan Sentra. I'm trying not to be nosy but stifling curiosity was never easy for me. The light changes and I start to cross. I glance at the car and notice this shady dude in the driver's seat.

She looks like she's arguing with him so I stop to see if she's okay. It's the gentlemanly thing to do. And she's Rose's kid sister. How would it look if I didn't stop to help the sister of the future mother of my children?

"Hey, Bella! You ready for lunch?" I ask and nod towards Miguel's. Like we're together. She looks confused. Shit, what if she didn't need any help? What if I just completely fucked up this…whatever it is she's doing?

"Edward?" she asks and I shrug, trying to find a way to fix this situation. Instead, she waves me over and I calmly approach the car.

The guy's my age, maybe older. His baseball cap's cocked to the side and plugs the size of half dollars stretch his ears. He's listening to Kanye and I'm tempted to spit phat rhymes. Something tells me he won't appreciate my vast knowledge of the gangsta rap phenomenon, even if I do give it up to B.I.G. on occasion.

Bella turns her back to him and I think she's going to introduce me or something but she just looks annoyed.

"Can you give me a ride home today?" she asks, her arms folded across her chest.

"Uh, sure," I respond, taken aback.

"Cool," she turns to the dude, flips him off, and grabs my arm.

"Just walk," she mutters and I don't look back. I can hear the guy yelling her name, along with various obscenities which I assume are meant for me. Then there's a rev of an engine and a squeal of rubber and for a split second I contemplate the fact that he might try to run us over. I can't deny it, my heart races and my fingers tingle. This is exhilarating!

He's not, of course. But it's enough to make me forget that Bella Hale is tucked into my side. Under normal circumstances, having a chick so close to me that I can smell her lavender shampoo would send me into an awkward frenzy of embarrassing anecdotes and poor motor skills. But it's the most bizarre thing; this is okay. Comfortable even.

"Sorry," she says quietly and I think she's going to explain, but she doesn't say anything else. Just releases me to the solitary existence from whence I came.

We walk in silence to the outdoor window and I order a bean, rice and cheese. She orders taquitos and a Coke and then changes her mind and gets two chicken tacos with guacamole on the side. And a quesadilla. For later, she says.

We only have about ten minutes, so we inhale our food. I use too much salsa and almost choke. Miguel's salsa is really hot. I'm usually a minimalist, but Bella loaded up her tacos and I didn't want to look like a pussy. I know, I'm an idiot.

Once we're back at school, Mr. Cullen assigns new duties and he puts me outside, cleaning up the art and music department quad. I'm picking trash out of the slush-filled planters two hours later and it's time to go. Bella's by the door, waiting for me to take her home.

"You still need a ride?" I ask her and she shrugs, cool as ice. Shit, her vacillating demeanor is totally fucking with my self-esteem.

She heads out to the parking lot and I follow. She walks straight to my car.

"How-"

She cuts me off before I can ask.

"Deduction. There are three cars in this parking lot."

I get in my car and lean over to unlock her door. She throws her big bag onto the floor and plops down into the seat with a huge exhale.

"God, I'm glad that's over with." She immediately starts fiddling with my radio. Now, usually I'd pull the _my car, my music_ card but I figure it's a battle I don't really need to fight. She puts it on some talk station and then leaves it on the news. I hate the news. It's so depressing.

I look over at her because she must be kidding but she's just gazing out the window as I pull out of the school parking lot. I'm stuck listening to the latest developments in the foreclosure crisis.

I know where she lives so I don't bother asking for directions and when I pull into her driveway, she gives me the same confused look I had burdened her with earlier.

"How-" she starts.

"Photographic memory," I explain and there's doubt in her pursed lips. "Alice used to walk home from school with you. My mom would always ask me to walk over and pick her up. We live one street over, on Northwood."

"_You_ went to St. Mary's?" she asks.

"Nope, Central. But Alice did." I'm having trouble discerning the look on her face right now. Maybe surprised. Amused?

At any rate, she keeps her emotions under wraps and with a short thank you and a wave, she's out of my car. Rose's BMW is missing from the drive and I wonder where she is. Or who she's with.

I watch Bella walk into her house and drive the short trip home. The house is empty when I get home and I'm totally relieved. I grab a bag of CornNuts from the stash in my room and settle in front of the television. I'm halfway through the Bourne trilogy when my parents finally get home.

"Edward!" My mom says, surprised. "You're home. If we'd have known you were going to be home so early, we would have waited to have dinner."

"What is that smell?" my dad gripes.

"Dinner," I say and hold up the empty foil bag. My mom wrinkles her nose and runs to get the Febreze.

"You know that smell upsets your sister's stomach," Dad says and then my mom's frantically coating everything in the room with a fine layer of orange scented mist.

"She's not even here," I say to the extreme disapproval of my parents. Shock. Dismay. How dare I question the sensitivity of the fetal queen's digestive system!

"Never mind," I mutter just as my cell phone is buzzing in my pocket. It's Jessica. _Shit_. I let it go to voicemail and moments later she sends me a text.

_Rents r gone. Party my plce. Brng yr suit!_

Jessica's parents put in a pool and spa this summer. The only one on our whole block. She's been using it as social collateral. October in Illinois is way too cold for swimming but they turn the heater on the spa sometimes.

I don't want to go. I really, really don't. Not after what happened last night. But the thought of staying in my house with my parents causes me to grab my swim trunks.

With any luck, maybe I'll get pneumonia.

…

**A/N:**

Hey peeps! I hope this eases a tiny bit of the non-specific pairing anxiety. I know the unknown is scary but be brave, my loves! It looks like I'll be able to post weekly, probably on Sundays. Or Saturday nights at midnight. It's been a while since I've posted any fic and I thank you for checking this out. I appreciate every one of your comments. And I'm so glad we're all on board with the dick and fart jokes.

My dear friend, **MisforMarisa**, made me a top-notch banner. Check it out on my blog! (link is on my profile)

Darling prereader** Boo**, this Breakfast's Club's for you.

**LightStarDusting** is the Batman of beta. Swift and vigilant and totally hot when she uses her sexy voice.

**Please Note**

Edward's last name is Masen. Cullen is his band director. Sorry for the confusion, folks!


	3. Picture Me Rollin

CH 3 – Picture Me Rollin'

…

"Well, I don't care what happens to me, I'll starve before I eat brains," Jessica says. She ashes her joint into an empty beer can. Steam rises from her exposed skin, and I can't stop staring at the beads of water rolling between her tits. It's hard not to stare when her tits are floating like buoys. All they need are little bells.

"That's not the point, Jess," Mike says. He takes the soggy joint from her fingers. "You won't be able to refuse. Therefore, I repeat, it is impossible for a zombie to starve to death."

"Those zombies in that 28 days movie did," Ben says and we all groan.

"Shit, here we go," Mike rolls his eyes and drops the roach into his bottle. Jake looks like he's going to shit his pants. Which would be highly unsanitary considering our present condition. The last thing I want to see in this spa is one of Jake's floaters.

"First of all, it's_ 28 Days Later_, and it's the biggest pile of cinema shit I have ever witnessed. They're are not zombies! The 'rage', okay, does not create undead. It's a virus that makes you insane." Jake's sitting on the edge of the spa now, steaming like a cup of noodles.

"Just like Bieber Fever," I add.

"You know that movie's shit, you know it." Jake points at me in a threatening manner which I don't really appreciate.

"Can we just classify it as horror and get on with our lives?" Mike asks.

"Classify my ass," Jake says and flips us all off.

Jessica's bare leg presses against mine and her skin is smooth. She mumbles an apology and floats toward Angela, who hasn't said two words tonight. I think maybe she spoke up when we were discussing how superfluous the new Spider Man franchise is going to be. Seriously, there should be rioting in the streets against this refresh.

Ben, Mike and Jake are all completely toasted. Jake keeps sitting on the ledge. He says he's too hot but I think he's just trying to show off his package.

Mike's been alternating weed with menthols so I'm positive he's going to puke. Plus, he's had like twelve pear ciders, which never really ends well.

Ben's still nursing his third Fat Tire. He insists he likes dark beer but takes forever to drink them, and he always, _always_, makes the most pathetic beer faces. Bless his heart, he tries so hard not to scrunch his nose but he eventually ends up looking like he's got Tourettes.

Angela's sipping a wine cooler and Jess was already plastered when we got here. Her and Jake went toe to toe as soon as we walked in, shooting buttery nipples with the rest of her dad's Schnapps. I think she was trying to work up the nerve to put on that sorry excuse for a bathing suit. I mean, honestly, she may as well be naked. I just want to shake her. _Mike doesn't care how hot your tits are. You don't have a dick. He's not going to look at you._

But that would just be rude.

"Who'd you have for Saturday school?" Jake asks me. He's pretty familiar with Saturday school. He has a frequent delinquent card. On his tenth stamp, he's gets one detention free.

"Cullen. We cleaned out the band closet."

"Aw man, he was going to make you geeks do that anyway, huh?" Jake slips back into the water and waves splash around our faces.

"Probably." I lean against the lip of the spa, looking up into the black sky.

"Did you see Felix?" he asks and I nod. "Yeah, he's cool. Hey, don't you have date with Hale on Monday? You know, chicks dig a badass."

"Is that a shooting star?" Jess interrupts and I'm grateful for the save. We all look up and watch the light move across the sky. The slow, blinking, red light.

"That's a plane, Jess," Mike says and she's slouching against me again. Her boob is touching my arm. I technically just got to second base with Jessica. "You know, if you fly here from Indianapolis on a typical regional jet, it's a forty minute flight but you have a one-hour time change. So you actually arrive twenty minutes before you leave. Think about it."

"What if the whole zone difference thing is a model for time travel, just on a very small scale," Ben says and Jake's panties are in a bundle again. He launches into his parallel universe jargon and I have to admit, coming from Jake the idea actually makes sense. Jake's pretty smart, like can solve a Rubik cube in under a minute smart. I'm pretty sure he'll be the first one of us to go to prison for conning people into a pyramid scheme or something.

I have to pee so I jump out of the spa and quickly wrap myself in a towel. I dry off thoroughly once inside so I'm not dripping water all through the house. I take a piss and grab another Dr. Pepper. I'm designated driver. Again. Not that I really care, I just want to go out and not have to clean puke out of my car for once.

Jess stumbles into the house. She's green, her eyes like slits and she 'forgot' to get a towel.

"Edward, have you seen Mazzy?" she says and she's dripping water all over the tile floor. Ugh, someone's going to slip.

Mazzy's their Pomeranian. Ugliest fucking dog I've ever seen. They keep her shaved except for her head and tail. It's like animal abuse or something. Plus, she was attacked by a coyote last year and only has one eye.

"I think she's in the garage," I say and Jessica's sitting on the sofa now, trying to pull her snow boots onto her bare feet.

"I just need to find Mazzy," she says again, only this time she's leaning back on the couch, her hand over her mouth. How she's managed to keep her boobs in that top is beyond me. It defies the laws of physics.

"No you don't. You need to go to bed. You'll die if you go outside like that." I pick her up by the arm and she lets me. She's practically naked but I'm unfazed. I have one mission and one mission only: Operation Do Not Puke. Just as I'm helping her into her bed, Angela comes creeping into the room.

"Oh, sorry," she mutters and I shake my head.

"No, no. It's fine. I mean, nothing...I wasn't-" She looks mortified so I stop and take a deep breath. "She passed out."

"Is she okay?" she asks skeptically.

"She's going to feel like shit in the morning but what do you expect? She's been testing her tolerance to poison for the last couple hours."

Angela stares at me. I have to explain. I hate when I have to explain a good joke.

"The alcohol, it's like poison."

"Okay." Dry as a bone. Not even a smile. So I turn and head back out to the guys. It's probably best we go now anyway.

I walk out and Mike is curled up like a heaving gargoyle, puking in the grass. Ben and Jake are talking about _The Terminator_ and Jake looks like he wants to rip Ben's throat out.

"Look, I don't think we're going to settle any space-time continuum debates with a James Cameron movie."

"Well, he did give us _Titanic_," Ben smirks. He's just fucking with Jake at this point and I can't blame him. It's easy to do.

We drag Mike to the car and just barely make it to his house. I pull into the driveway and Mike jumps out of the slowly moving car and pukes all over the concrete. We sit there, watching him vomit and waiting for him to finish when suddenly he climbs back into the front seat.

"Okay, I think I can make it home now," he says and for some reason this is the most hilarious thing I've ever heard. Fucker doesn't even recognize his own driveway.

We all bust up and it takes us a good five minutes to explain it to him. He flips us off and heads into the house. We crash in his basement and I sleep like the dead until the next morning when my phone starts beeping. Four messages. All from Jessica.

Apparently, her parents found Mike's puke in the grass. They thought it was from the dog and rushed her to the vet. Thought she had an intestinal infection or something. Now Jess is in trouble because they think she left the dog out all night.

_Tell them it was me. __Tell them I puked in the backyard._

Her dad already hates me. What harm could it do? My phone beeps almost immediately.

_You're the best. Thank you._

At least she said thank you this time.

...

"Can you keep it down? I'm trying to nap!" Alice is pounding on the wall we share between our bedrooms.

I'm trying to practice my trumpet but it's useless. If Alice isn't bitching, then my dad is. My mom's the only person in this house who tolerates my hobby. When I was little, I'd practice at Mike's. He lives a couple houses down the street. I'd walk to his house after I picked up Alice from the Hale's. We'd practice for an hour and then watch _Pokemon._

After that, Alice would whine to go home. Then she'd lie to my parents about how I forced her to sit in a closet or something. My mom would give me a half-ass lecture about being a responsible fourth grader and how I'm supposed to take care of my baby sister. I've been doing that ever since.

"I have a game next weekend. I need to practice," I yell back and then she's at my door. Now I've done it; I've gone and made her get up.

"Besides, who naps at four in the afternoon?" I say to her as she barges into my room.

"Shut up! I'm just so tired lately." She sits down on my bed and I play the beginning of _The Simpsons_ theme song. She scrunches up her nose and I know I'm done for the day.

"Maybe you're making his brain and that's why you're so tired. Brain-making has to be hard work." I loosen the mouthpiece from the neck of my trumpet.

"How do you know it's a he?" she asks.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm psychic?" I respond, an expression of shock and awe appropriately displayed.

"More like psycho," she mutters.

"Good one," I snark and she tries to get up off my bed. She rocks a little, scooting to the edge of the mattress before erupting in an exasperated sigh of disgust.

"You could offer to help, you know?" she says.

"I could. But that's not nearly as amusing as this roly poly routine you've got going on here." I grab her arm and pull her off the bed. She flips me off and waddles out of the room.

I feel bad about what our relationship has become. I love her and everything, but we're so disconnected. Sometimes I wonder if we really have the same parents. Maybe I was switched at birth. A guy can dream, right?

I guess I'm more like my mom than anything. She's kinda fun sometimes. Especially when she drinks. But the shit she puts up with from Alice is just not responsible parenting. Like Dr. Phil says, you need to be a parent not a friend.

It's not really her fault. She lost a baby after Alice. It fucked her up real good. She wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't really interact with us at all. It was bad, but Alice got the brunt of it. After she got help for that, I think she felt guilty about her mental and emotional absence. So, she overcompensated.

And now she's created a monster.

Alright, not really. It's just the worst combination ever. A passive parent and an overly-aggressive kid. Throw in the depression and a father who's gone all the time and you've got yourself one hell of a social-emotional tornado.

At any rate, I've managed to come out of this semi-unscathed. I mean, everyone has their issues. At least I'm aware of mine. I want to be accepted. I like being dependable. I like the way I feel when I help someone out. Like I have a purpose. It's not as altruistic as it seems. These are all very selfish motivators.

At least, that's what my dad says.

Monday morning I'm a nervous wreck. I have to live through six hours of school before my tutoring session with Rosalie. I put on jeans and a green sweater over my collared shirt, because I think tutoring with the girl of my dreams should be a formal affair. Also, my mom says it looks nice. Makes my eyes stand out.

When sixth period finally rolls around, my stomach feels like liquid hot magma. I can't believe I'm going through with this. This is the kind of shit that comes back to bite you in the ass. Lie turns into life, dream girl finds out, any hope of coitus completely obliterated.

Not that I'm only into Rose for sex. Rosalie Hale doesn't have sex. She's saving herself for marriage, or at least until after her Ph.D. Or election to state representative. Whichever comes first.

I've been obsessed with Rosalie ever since I fate made her my Spanish partner freshman year. Every time she called me Senior Eduardo or rolled an r, I fell just a little bit more in love with her and by the end of the year, I was convinced we were cosmically linked. Haphazardly torn from each other by a vengeful Greek God, only to be reunited years later in some insignificant suburb of Chicago.

I wonder if she remembers that. The Spanish partner thing, not the cosmic vengeful God.

I stop in the restroom to make sure I don't have pit stains and stifle the urge to vomit. Mike walks in just as I'm leaving.

"Dude, you look sick." He holds the door for me and I stop in the hallway.

"Sick as in cool or sick as in the infirm?" I ask.

"Like, pale sick. You might want to skip practice today. We're on the field again."

"Can you tell Cullen I went home with the flu?" I ask and Mike nods.

"Sure, no problem. Get some rest, buddy."

He disappears into the restroom and I try to walk casually to the library. I check my phone to make sure I'm not a second late and check my breath at least twelve times. I pop an Altoid just in case.

I open the double glass doors and she's already here. Her long hair hangs down her back, over this blue sweater jacket thing. She's wearing a plaid skirt. Just like in my dream. Fuck me sideways.

I'm unsure how to greet her. Should I shake her hand? Hug her? Physical contact may be strictly prohibited. Maybe I should play it cool and offer a casual wave.

As I'm debating forms of salutation in my head, I forget to focus on controlling my appendages and kick one of the wooden chairs into a desk. The library's practically empty so the sound echoes in the large, open room. So does my profane exclamation and I kind of want to drop dead.

Rosalie whips her head around and gets up to greet me. She smiles and holds out her hand.

"Edward, pleasure," she says. This chick can't be eighteen.

"Hey," I utter and take her hand. She smells citrusy, like tangerines or something. My mouth is watering and now I want to eat her. I mean, _it_! A tangerine. Her perfume makes me want to enjoy a refreshing fruit of the citrus variety.

"Please, have a seat. I take it you're in Andersen's class? I acquired a text and previewed the material. It's been a while since I've had Calculus and needed a refresher."

A while? It's a senior level class. Goddamn, her brain's impressive.

And I can see her bra through her white polo shirt. This is definitely going to bite me in the ass.

"Uh, yeah. Andersen. I think we're going over integral differentials right now. Getting ready for that state test or something?"

"You mean derivatives. A differential allows wheels to rotate at different speeds. Mainly for taking sharp turns and transmitting torque," she says matter-of-factly.

Dammit, I know that. But I can't respond. Not only is she the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, she knows shit about cars. Are you fucking kidding me?

"My dad makes me watch _Top Gear_." She smiles and I want to kiss her. Full on the mouth.

But since I'm paying for this little interaction, that would make her a prostitute so I force myself to restrain.

"You play _Forza_?" I ask instead and she knits her eyebrows.

"Is that a card game?" she asks and that answers my question.

"Nah, it's a car racing game. Like, that you play on Xbox." I run my hand through my hair and now it's all sticky. It's one of those things I do when I'm nervous. I also sweat profusely.

I give up on the small talk and Rosalie gets down to business. She's wicked smart, like serial killer smart and the whole time, I have to pretend I don't know what I'm doing.

At the end of the hour, she pats my hand and tells me I'm doing a great job. It's humiliating. But she's touching me so it's totally worth it.

"In order to get an accurate assessment of your progress, I'm going to be charting your growth. What is your current percentage in Calculus?" She asks as she packs up her stuff.

Shit! Not ready for this! Lie, dammit!

"I think it's like fifty…" _Too low! Too low!_ "Fifty-nine percent or something." Yeah, that doesn't sound like a lie at all.

"Really? You catch on much quicker than fifty-nine percent," she says.

"Maybe it's the tutor," I mumble without thinking and she cocks her head to the side with a smile.

"That's really sweet, Edward," she says and I'm flying. What does that mean? That I'm sweet? What I said was sweet? Does she like guys who are sweet?

Before I figure it out, she's back to business. "Okay, see you next Monday."

She's out the door in a flash and I watch her skirt sway across the back of her long legs. I check my watch. Three o'clock on the nose.

Best hour of my life ever.

…

"So? You guys getting married yet?" Mike asks, the strap of his uniform hat slightly inhibiting his speech. It's Friday, a whole school week after my first tutoring session with Rosalie Hale.

She hasn't acknowledged my existence since. I thought maybe she'd throw me a glance once in awhile. I've even been eating lunch in the cafeteria to make it easy on her, but nope. Nothing.

Needless to say, I'm devastated.

So I suck it up. I hang out with the guys at Target, test out some patio furniture. You know, mindful loitering. I play games and watch_ Lord of the Rings_, the extended edition. It's like a whole new movie.

I practice trumpet, read a comic book. I try to do my homework but now math reminds me of Rosalie and every time I think about her, my chest feels like it's going to cave in.

I'm such an idiot. Here I am, faking stupidity to charm a girl who's way too good for me and I can't believe I thought for a minute, for a fucking minute, that maybe it worked.

Maybe she just has a lot on her mind. She's in advanced placement, takes early bird Trig, student council, ASB, volunteers at the county hospital. The woman's a saint.

"Don't be an asshole, Mike. It makes you look fat," I say. He'll be obsessing over that comment for the rest of the night. Keeps him off my back. He knows very well the status of the Rosalie situation.

I lick my lips and play some trill exercises on my mouthpiece to warm up. I wonder if Rosalie is going to be here tonight. It's not like she'll notice me. I'll be one of hundreds. The whole objective of marching band is to blend in, move in unison, and be a very small part of a whole.

Which is what I do best.

We sit in the stands and hordes of people inch into the small stadium. Football is a big deal. My dad used to play when he went to school here. I think he was some big shot on the team, running back or something. He wanted me to play when I was younger. He signed me up for Pop-Warner and everything but I couldn't hack it. I don't really like contact sports, especially ones that inflict pain and humiliation. Not my thing. Plus, I was really getting into music and just didn't have time for shit I didn't find enjoyable. I mean, I was ten years old. I had comic books to read and video games to play.

Not really that different from my life now, actually.

I stretch my jaw and trill my lips, trying to get a good warm-up in before we start the fight song. Riley Biers, the drum major takes the podium. And I'm on autopilot.

The cheer squad is tossing each other in the air directly below us on the dirt track. Behind them, are the benches for the team and coaches. There's a Gatorade jug obstructing my view a little, but other than that I can see the whole field. Not that I particularly like watching the game. I like watching the benches. The dire seriousness some of these people exude just blows my mind. Like they're out there doing brain surgery. Like this next touchdown will feed a starving family of four in Uganda. It's the only thing that matters right now, getting that ridiculously shaped ball into that end zone.

I straighten my gloves to make sure my fingers won't slip. Riley's baton is in the air. I hit every note, chant, hoot and holler. I stand and sit when I'm supposed to and my ass on the aluminum bench is freezing through my polyester pants. The clock runs out and Riley gives us the cue.

We stand in unison, and as we're marching onto the field, I make the mistake of turning my head slightly to the left. Sitting in row F, just inches from the very stairway I need to navigate with precision, is Rosalie Hale. I swear to God, a golden halo rings around her face. And then, she waves. At me.

I think.

No, I'm pretty sure. I stand between Senna and Zafrina, these two Amazonian chicks. There not really Amazonians, but they're almost as tall as I am. And have just as much facial hair.

"Get it together, Masen!" Senna mutters through tight lips. I'm veering, I guess because I can't take my eyes off the blonde goddess of perfection whom is actually acknowledging my existence. At a football game. Practically in front of the whole school.

I've marched this routine a hundred million times and half the time I'm thinking about what I'm going to eat for dinner. We always go to Graziano's after the game. It's kind of a family tradition.

Tonight, it's the toughest half-hour of my life. All I can think about is her perfect hand whirling through the air. In slow motion. While a gentle breeze delicately sways the golden curls around her face. All I want to do is walk by her and see if she waves again.

She doesn't. She's not even in her seat when we return. There's an empty spot on a flannel blanket, right next to Bella. She's wearing this black beanie with cat ears on it and her hair gnarls out from underneath like roots from a tree. She's talking to a chick I don't recognize when she catches me staring. She smiles deviously and my stomach drops into my black leather Dinkles.

"Good show, Masen! You were really nimble out there. Nice fingering," she stands up and yells. She and her friend bust up laughing and I try not to teeter from my perfected unison. Is she drunk?

And my fingering _was_ spot on.

I spend the rest of the game trying not to look at them. Well, trying not to let them see me look at them. Rose finally comes back some time in the fourth and I have to piss, but the thought of having to walk by Bella again makes me nauseous.

How can such a tiny person be so damn intimidating?

By the end of the game, I'm squirming in my seat. Tyler Crowley scores the winning touchdown and is declared school savior. They're awarding him a Nobel peace prize at the after party, I'm sure.

As I'm leaving the stands, Bella calls my name. I try to pretend I don't hear her but she's insistent. I turn slightly, and she's waving. And drinking from a thermos. I knew she was drunk.

"Hey, trumpeter. Is it trumpeter? Or trumpeteer?" Bella asks and her friend keeps covering her mouth. I don't like where this is going.

"Trumpeter. Starting the party early, I see." I nod towards her thermos. She raises her barred eyebrow, purses her lips. This makes me uncomfortable, because I can't tell what she's thinking. And she's not exactly forthcoming with information.

"Is that a problem for you?" she asks, her arms crossed in front of her now, all judgmental-like.

"Nah, not a problem. Let it be, I always say." I need to get out of here. I'm already late and my parents will be looking for me.

"You and Lennon, huh? You want a drink?" she holds out the thermos and I hesitate. I don't drink. But I don't want to spend the next twenty minutes explaining why. So I just grab the thermos and take a tentative swig.

Bella's eyes are vibrant as she watches, big brown, laughing eyes and now I feel like an asshole.

It's chocolate. Lukewarm. Used to be hot cocoa.

"See you around, Edward Masen," Bella says as she snags the thermos from my grip. She dangerously hops down the bleachers. I can't watch. She's going to roll an ankle. Her friend follows down the steps and I watch them meet up with Rosalie at the bottom. They exchange a word or two and then they're all looking up at me before Rosalie waves. And just like that, I'm on cloud nine. Oh, sweet redemption, thou art a goddess!

I run to the front of the band room, where my parents are waiting. They're standing outside the door, chatting with Mr. Cullen. My dad's arm is secured around my mom's waist, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. My sister didn't come. I'm not surprised. It's cold and the benches are uncomfortable.

My mom laughs, a high-pitched, girly laugh I've never heard before. I walk up behind my parents and they're reminiscing over their high school years. So weird.

"You remember Marcus? He moved into the city, got some consulting job and now he gets to travel the world. He's been in Italy for the last two years. Lucking S.O.B.," my dad says. Mr. Cullen messes with his hair. My mom fiddles with her earring. My dad notices I'm standing behind them and he welcomes my arrival.

"Edward! Great job, Sport! You really knocked it out of the park." My dad winks and pats me on the shoulder and I wonder if he could really tell which one was me.

"Thanks," I mutter and my dad claps me on the back.

"Alright, well, we better be off. Family dinner at Graziano's." He rubs his hands together in an exuberant declaration of anticipated culinary delight before extending a hand to Mr. Cullen.

"Great to see you, Carlisle. Just like old times, huh?"

Mr. Cullen shakes his hand and gives a cordial smile. Something tells me this is nothing at all like old times.

"Bye Carl, you take care," my mom says and then she hugs him. Weird to the power of infinity.

"You too, Esme," Mr. Cullen says and then he lets her go and disappears into the band room.

"Ready, honey?" my mom asks me and she's all flushed. Positively giddy. Oh my God, gross. There goes my appetite.

"Yeah. Let me just get my stuff. I can meet you there," I say.

"No, we'll wait," my dad states and I hurry to snag my backpack from the band room. I put my trumpet in its case and open my bag only to find, I've forgotten my jeans. I'm going to have to wear my band pants to dinner.

I walk out and my parents are arguing and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why my dad's pissed. My mom's on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

They smile when they see me though, and it's all brushed under the rug. We walk to the parking lot together, even though we drove separately. I get in my car and my parents insist on following me. I hate it when my dad follows me. He almost always has some useless driving advice when we reach our destination.

Alice is standing outside and she has Jasper in tow. Which is a first. My parents are shocked into silence. The camera crew is absent for once. That's a shame. They're going to miss out on some bomb-ass baby mama drama.

No one says anything at first. They just look at each other, a good old western stand-off. My dad's probably appalled Alice brought Jasper to family dinner, even though half of Jasper's DNA makes up his grandkid.

Alice grits her teeth, her hands on her hips, her stance daring my dad to say something. Of course he doesn't. He wouldn't want to upset his little girl.

"Hey Jasper," I say and hold out my hand and Jasper looks grateful for the greeting.

"Hey, man. How's it hangin?" he asks. Jasper talks primarily in slang. He never really finishes a word. He wears his hair long, sometimes in a pony tail and this really bugs my dad. Today he's wearing a beanie.

"What are cheesy poofs, Jasper?" my mom asks as we walk to our table.

Jasper looks down at the t-shirt he's wearing under his plaid button-up. I wonder if he thinks this is dressed up?

"They're chips, Mom," Alice interjects before Jasper can respond. "It's from a TV show."

"Oh, that's nice," my mom responds. God help her, she tries.

We sit at our normal table. Sue's our waitress every weekend. She also went to school with my parents.

"The usual?" she asks and my father nods. Which I find highly annoying. What if I wanted eggplant today? Or ravioli? Why does he assume we all want the family spaghetti with garlic bread and a side salad with bleu cheese? I don't even like bleu cheese. I look around and everyone else seems happy with it, so I keep my mouth shut. It's too late now, anyway. They probably have it ready to go for us.

Sure enough, not a minute later, Sue brings us our salads and a basket of bread. The table is broken into little conversations. My mom and dad are arguing, quick little quips under their breath that they think we can't hear. Alice and Jasper are having some hushed conversation about something they saw on twitter, I think. And I'm pissed off at my salad dressing. So much for family time.

"So Jasper and I were thinking," Alice starts and my parents turn towards her in unison. Here we go, showtime!

"We want to raise the baby together, be a secure, family unit. So, we're getting engaged," Alice says. She holds Jasper's arm and he continues to casually eat his salad. Doesn't even look up.

My mother puts down her fork and folds her hands on the table.

"Of course, we won't get married right now. We'll wait until were at least twenty-two. That will give us time to start our careers and at least one year to enjoy the benefits of being 'of age'." She quotes with her fingers. "Plus, the baby will be like five or six then, so it can be in the wedding!"

So many jokes! So many jokes going through my head right now! And I can't use any of them. It's like torture.

"Okay," my dad starts. "I like that you have a plan. You're thinking ahead, that's very responsible of you."

I snort and try not to choke on my iceberg. My mom throws me a dirty look and then shushes me. Like I'm six or something.

"I also think you're both very young." He pauses. He doesn't think Jasper's paying attention. Probably because he isn't.

"Jasper, get in the game, buddy."

Alice nudges him in the side and Jasper looks up, mid-bite.

"As I was saying, you have a while to figure out what you want. I know you both want to be a part of this child's life and right now, you think you're in love. But a child is not a reason to stay in a troubled relationship."

Alice is fuming, her eyebrows knit together like a goddamn sweater on her face. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. I recognize this behavior. Shit's about to go down.

"We do not have a troubled relationship. And we aren't just in love. We _love_ each other. We love our baby. Do you think I'd go through all this shit if I didn't?" Alice screeches. People are turning in their chairs, and I wish I could disappear.

"Alice!" My mom hushes her, throwing onlookers a dazzling smile.

"I can't believe you're taking his side, Mom!" Alice's face is all red, little beads of sweat breaking out over her forehead. My dad is calm, and I half expect him to whip out a notepad and start taking notes.

"Alice, baby, calm down," Jasper puts his hand on her belly and Alice clutches it. She closes her eyes again. Deep breaths.

"You're right, Jasper. It's fine. We don't need them. We can do this on our own." She calmly proceeds to finish her salad.

My parents sit, dumbfounded. It's true. She's going to have a fat wad of cash after this reality show thing. They _can_ do this on their own.

Once they're of legal age, of course.

"Alice, honey, you know we'll support whatever decision you make," my mom says quietly. My dad whips his head around and gives her a look that can only be described as shock and horror.

"You can't be serious. She's only sixteen. She can't possibly know what she wants at sixteen," he says, flabbergasted.

"I did," my mom says sweetly and this silences my father.

Sue sets a large tray of pasta on our table and gives us a stack of clean plates. Everyone's just kind of sitting there, so I grab a plate and start to serve the spaghetti. I scoop a nice size serving for Alice and set it in front of her. She looks up at me and I give her a goofy grin.

I expect a sock in the gut but she gets up and gives me a big hug, which is really hard to do considering the sizable fetal obstacle between us.

"You're the best, Edward," she says and then my parents are smiling again. My mom grabs my father's hand and they sigh. _Look at what good parents we are_, they're thinking. _Look how well adjusted our children are. Even in the face of adversity, we can come together as a family and overcome._ Cue sappy after-school special music.

After that, it's forgotten. Alice's pregnancy, the "engagement." The fact that in two months or something, there's going to be another human involved in all of this.

We're just leaving the restaurant when I get a text from Mike.

_Party at Hale's! Fuck yeah, dude!_

It takes me a minute for this to register. But then I'm quick to respond.

_What? How did this happen?_

We're never invited to her parties. What the hell is going on today?

_Meeting at Ben's. I'll splain._

More proof of his gaydom. Please note Exhibit C: Mike's infatuated with _I Love Lucy_.

I pocket my phone and corner my mom.

"I'm going over to Ben's," I tell her and then kiss her cheek.

"Okay, honey. Have fun," she says and then helps Alice out of her chair. Like she can't walk on her own.

"Mom, stop it! I'm fine," Alice gripes and I get the hell out of dodge, before my spaghetti makes an encore appearance.

I get to Ben's, and Jake and Mike are already there. Jake's bouncing off the walls and Mike's just pumped we're invited. Ben, on the other hand, is extremely doubtful.

"Tell me again, how we got this invitation?" Ben's pacing the floor in Mike's bedroom. Jake's smoking a joint and ashing it out the popped corner of the screen.

"So check it," Jake tries to say through an inhale. He pauses, then blows smoke out the window. Like it makes a difference. The whole room smells like skunk. And it's fucking freezing with the window open.

"I'm at the game, right? And there's this hot chick hanging outside the gate as I walk up. She's got wild red hair and she's smoking menthols so right away, I'm thinking it's meant to be. She's searching her purse for a lighter and I whip mine out and bam, it's on like Tron." He takes another hit and this story is already much longer than it needs to be.

"She says she goes to Kennedy and that her friend's having this party after the game. I'm like, well now, who's your friend? And she says, Bella Hale. Rosalie's sister." He says this like it's the most important piece of information ever.

"So do Bella or Rosalie actually know we're going to be there?" Ben asks.

"Does it matter? I don't think they'll notice. They're going to be so drunk, they're not going to give a fuck who is there." Jake's got a good point and it's enough to satisfy Ben's social graces.

"Plus, we'll just stay long enough to get fucked up. And make sure Edward here seals the deal with Rosalie." Jake gives me a nod and I roll my eyes.

"Seal the deal? With Rosalie Hale, the urgin' virgin?" Ben says, his face doubtful.

"Seal the deal in this instance, simply means he gets to see her ankles. Maybe, after they've courted for a year, she'll show him her knee." Jake's cracking himself up.

"Let's just get the hell out of here," I say and he laughs harder, knowing the comment pissed me off. That's the thing about Jake, you can't let him see your weaknesses because he will exploit them. And he'll make no apologies for it.

"Oh relax, Edward. This is going to be the best night of your life."

…

**A/N:**

This zombie discussion brought to you by the mid-season finale of The Walking Dead. I just got caught up yesterday and I have to say, I called that shit all the livelong day.

**Boo** prereads like a mofo. And my baby **LightStarDusting **beta's like a sonofabitch. Check out her fic with **TheHeartofLife**, _Real Plastic Trees_. It's Rose and Emmett, it's high school, and it's adorbs. It's in my favorites.

Thank you for reading!


	4. Changes

CH. 4 – Changes

…

"I think we need to pregame," Mike suggests as we get in my car.

Once again, I'm driving. I don't think I've even had the option. The first time they got plastered at a party, I had driven. I didn't drink and it kinda became this thing. And now they expect it.

I maneuver the foggy streets to the liquor store, the one by Ben's house. They won't recognize me on this side of town. Ben lives like two minutes from Kennedy High School, where my sister goes. He chose to go to Riverside High because that's where all of us were going. His parents were less than pleased, and tried to force him to go to Kennedy but he threw up in the principal's office during orientation. There's some discussion on whether or not he really initiated the vomiting himself. He claims it was self-induced. I'm skeptic.

The guys give me cash and I head into the store. I'm the tallest and have a decent amount of facial hair. I rarely get carded.

I grab a twelve pack of Coors and six bags of CornNuts and set my shit on the counter. There's this tweeker chick working the register and she doesn't look at me the entire transaction. Sweet.

Once I'm back in the car, they guys polish off the twelve pack and I crunch as loud as I want.

We all plan to crash at Mike's house because his mom is pretty cool. She owns this organic health food store here in town. She's always trying to get us to try like wheat grass pancakes or almond platypus milk. Really weird shit. But she smokes a lot of weed which makes her inept at determining the degree of intoxication of others.

Plus, if anyone gets all vomity, they can just walk to Mike's.

I park at the Hale's and I feel like I'm in some alternate universe or something. I've fantasized about this moment every day for the past three years.

The two-story house looks silent and I'm wondering if this is a hoax. A ploy to make an ass out of Jake. It wouldn't be the first time.

Once the front door opens, all doubt is removed. The house is a seething mass of flesh and hormones, grinding and swaying to the thump of a heavy drum beat and badass guitar riff. Mike looks at me, the proud look of accomplishment on display.

"Dude, can you believe this shit?" he says under his breath.

We talk about crashing these parties all the time. We've imagined glorious displays of grandeur, like real glasses instead of plastic cups and little appetizers with toothpicks in them instead of pretzels. We've listed the people we would piss off and cuss out, all on the premise that we're too intoxicated to be held accountable for our outrageously judgmental behavior. It's fueled by a desperate jealousy.

Now that I'm here, though, it's just another party. Same kids. Same beer. Same music. I think Eric Yorkie's even wearing the same sweater, yellow with black stripes. It's his Charlie Brown sweater.

This, however, is not the same house. And this is not the same girl. Rosalie is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking a pop. She's wearing a tight black skirt and heels, with a bright blue fuzzy sweater. Her honey hair hangs in long curls and is held back by a silky scarf. And I'm still wearing my band uniform pants.

She's surrounded by a force field of friends. Lauren's hanging on Tyler's arm and Emmett's talking to her about something. She's laughing, clearly the center of the conversation.

This was a dumb idea.

Jake, Mike and Ben file in behind me and make their way toward the makeshift ice chest in the sink. They grab drinkage and they're on the move.

I grab a can of Dr. Pepper and follow, avoiding Rosalie's line of sight because my stomach is all knotted up. I need recovery time before I speak to her. You know, so I won't make myself look like an asshole.

The lower level of the house is laid out like a big circle; every room leads to the next. People I've known for years and those I've never seen before mill and migrate, like a turbulent vortex of social interaction. I lose sight of Jake but keep following the flow of traffic, figuring I'll just catch up with him at some point. Instead, I'm intercepted by a waifish smart ass with rainbow hair and black eyeliner.

She has to be drunk. Or high. Or both. Bella Hale is literally climbing the walls. Her bare feet are pressed into either side of an arched doorway. She's at least five feet off the ground hovering in the arch like a micro-ninja or something. She's steadying herself by gripping the lip of the frame and she seems to be searching for something. Or someone.

"Oh! Edward!" she shouts and jumps down from her elevated position. She snakes through the crowd, like a black mamba and I'm a trapped rat. Next stop, paralysis.

"Hey," she pounces, breathless. "I'm looking for someone but crowds are like kryptonite for the vertically challenged."

"Ah, that's kind of like the compact car conundrum," I say. "Do you how hard it is to drive with your knees in your chest?"

"Well, you have a chance to put all that legroom to good use." She taps my knee with her foot. She might be trying to kick me. "Could you maybe scan the crowd from way up there? I can't find my sister."

"She's in the kitchen," I say. "I just saw her."

"Cool," she says and punches my shoulder. "Thanks, Edward."

"Don't mention it," I mutter but she's already slithering away through the horde.

I finally find Jake and Ben outside and they're already three sheets. Ben's such a lightweight. All Jake has to do is breathe on him and he passes out.

"Where's Mike?" I ask as Jake proceeds to pound another Coors and crush the can. I don't know how they can drink that shit.

"He's with Jessica. They might be killing each other," Ben says and then Jake burps in my face and rubs his belly.

"Since when are you friends with Bella Hale? I saw you talking to her. She's a fucking piece, man. I heard she's a freak in the sack. Introduce me! Or are you going to tap that?" Jake slurs and his eyes are half-closed.

"We're not friends. I had Saturday school with her last weekend. And no, I am not going to tap that." Jake smells like beer and bean and cheese burrito. I'd hate to be his toilet.

"Hook me up! You just have to provide the introduction. I'll do the rest myself."

"If we happen to see her again, I'll introduce you. But I'm not going to track Bella down just to burden her with your antics."

"Antics? What are you, eighty?" Jake laughs and I roll my eyes. "Just hook a brother up, dude."

"If we see her," I say. And as if it were scripted in a cheesy melodrama, Bella walks out the fucking door. She's wearing her big poofy coat and smoking a joint with her curly, red-headed friend whom I've nicknamed The Giggler. And she put on boots, thank God.

Jake looks at me, like a five year old in a candy store and I force an exhale. White fog floats around my face as I try to figure out what the hell I'm going to say to her. _Hey, my buddy wants to bum rush you_ doesn't seem like something that would tickle Bella's fancy.

"Bella," I call out to her and Jake's practically salivating. Bella and The Giggler mosey over to where we've congregated.

"Masen the Trumpeter," Bella announces. Apparently, I'm not the only one who appoints nicknames. We're standing under this big oak, the skeleton of a tree stripped free by inclement weather. She tries to pass the joint to The Giggler but Jake intercepts the bud.

"Hey," I nod, unsure as how to proceed. "Great party."

"Thanks, but it's not really mine. My sister's the popular one, not me." I hate it when people dispute compliments. It just makes me feel stupid for saying something nice to them.

Jake elbows me in the rib. I'm a bit disturbed he's standing so close that he can poke me with his elbow.

"So, this is my buddy, Jake. He was wondering who does your landscaping. He really loves the layout of your backyard." I can't even say it with a straight face because Jake looks like he wants to punch me. It doesn't matter though, Bella's thrilled.

"Really? I have a vegetable garden on the side of the house. Do you want to see it?" she asks. She grabs Jake's arm and drags him away.

"So you're into gardening, huh?" I hear him say.

"Yep. Remind me to show you the plants in my closet," Bella retorts and it's a match made in heaven.

Ben abandons me for The Giggler and Mike's nowhere to be found. I'm surrounded by people, yet completely alone. I circle inside the house, trying to catch a glimpse of Rosalie but I can't find her so I park myself on a fake wicker lounge chair outside. This party has become a "run down the clock" situation. Just me an my Dr. Pepper. Two girls in miniskirts walk outside for a cigarette and they cross their arms and bitch about how cold it is. Lauren and Tyler come out onto the porch to fight and then spend ten minutes having a gropefest. None of them notice me. Being invisible has its perks.

Jake and Bella eventually step outside for air. I can practically smell their intoxication. Bella whispers something to Jake and then hits him in the stomach. They're giggling and Jake keeps putting his hand on her ass. She doesn't seem to mind.

Jake pulls her in close and pushes her rainbow hair from her face and she has stars in her eyes. He leans down and kisses her and the inexplicable happens.

Rage. I want to hit him. In the face.

It's not that I'm jealous of Jake. I wouldn't want to be him for anything in the world. I'm just disgusted by how easily people fall for his shenanigans. Even smart, semi-scary people, like Bella Hale.

I'm sure she can handle herself.

But still, I feel like I should save her from him or something.

Just then, Ben barges through the slider and Mike's right behind him. They plop down on the lounge chair next to me. Ben's glassy-eyed and drinking Jameson, which can only mean one thing. The Giggler shot him down.

"Rough night?" I ask him. He takes another swig from the bottle and then wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. He looks over at Bella and Jake sucking face over by the slider and he's just appalled.

"How does he do that?" he asks, exasperated.

I shrug, and he offers me the bottle out of courtesy. He knows I'll never accept it.

"No thanks," I say and raise up my can of cola. He nods and hands it to Mike. Mike drinks and then looks over his shoulder. I hate it when he smokes weed. He gets so damn paranoid.

"I forgot. Ed-DD. Always sober, all the time. That's brave, man, to live through high school completely straight. How do you do it?" Ben says and Mike's leg won't stop shaking.

"It's not a big deal. I find other outlets for my dissension," I reply. Like shooting zombies or racing million dollar sports cars. And porn. Lots of porn.

"What, like reading the dictionary?" he laughs and I shrug. I appreciate a good vocabulary.

"Edward!" Jake's yelling at me from under that big oak. Bella's bent over and I'm thinking she might be puking but then I see her throw her head back. She's laughing and balance has become an issue.

"Edward, I need your expertise," Jake yells again so I walk over to see what he needs. Probably something dumb. Mike follows. I'm sure he thinks we're going to talk shit about him.

"Edward," he says again and I'm starting to hate my own name. "Bella, do you know my buddy Edward here?"

"Not intimately," Bella snorts.

"Did you know my buddy Edward here has a huge boner for a certain lady whose sister is standing in our general vicinity?"

"Jesus, Jake!" I mumble and pull at my hair. I want to disappear. I expect them to laugh, bust a gut at my expense but the only one laughing is Jake. I look up and she's staring at me. I cannot for the life of me read the expression on her face. Is she intrigued? Confused? Sympathetic? I don't get it.

"Did you know if you spill hot oil on polyester pants, they'll adhere to your skin?" Bella says and it takes me a minute to comprehend. I look down at my navy band pants. I forgot I was still wearing them.

"I'll make sure to change before I do any oil boiling," I snark. It's rude and I expect Bella to scoff and whip her head around in disgust. Instead, she smiles, the side of her mouth twitched up in a grin.

"I always do," she says and it's my turn to grin. Jake pulls out a blunt this time, weed rolled in brown paper. He lights and drags and he's passing to Bella but she refuses. Instead she's trying to grab one of the naked branches above us.

"Need a lift?" Jake asks. He passes to Mike and then his hands are making indentations in her poofy jacket.

"I used to climb this tree all the time," she says as she finally grasps the lowest branch. She hangs and then immediately drops, dusting her hands off on her corduroy pants. "I also used to have a lot more upper body strength."

I drink my soda and blow puffs of fog into the cold air. Ben wanders over to us and points at Bella, accusing.

"What the hell's wrong with your friend, man?" he slurs. It's time to cut him off.

"Victoria?" Bella laughs and I'm wondering if there's anything that offends this girl. "She's a bitch, huh?"

Ben's unsure of what to make of this odd creature before him. She confuses him too. I'm glad it's not just me.

"Well, she's not very nice, if that's what you mean." He's a polite bastard, even when he's pissed and plastered.

"Yeah, she's got anger issues. Plus, her asshole boyfriend just broke up with her. She's contemplating lesbianism," Bella says.

"With you?" Ben asks, exasperated.

"Would that bother you?" she responds, her hands on her hips.

"No-no, of course not. Gays are great," Ben stutters. Bella pats him on the head and he looks like a scolded puppy.

"Oh honey, there's no such thing as gays," Bella remarks and Mike's staring down the grass.

"Wow, how open-minded of you," I say curtly. Mostly because I want Mike to know I'm cool with his gaydom.

"There's no such thing as straight, either." Bella's unaffected by my comment and I can tell she can't be goaded into explanation.

"What?" Mike says.

"Labels are binding and demand a certain expectation of behavior. Why do we have to be one or the other? Can't we just be?" Bella asks.

"It's a nice idea, Bella. But the rest of the world doesn't work that way," Mike says quietly.

"Change has to start somewhere. And it usually starts with those of us who choose to reject the status quo." Bella kisses Mike on the cheek.

Mike inhales. I mean really breathes. Something happens in that moment and it's stunning. I've known Mike my entire life and this chick soothes his soul with some two second existential testimonial.

Jake butts into the conversation and like everything, turns it into an opportunity for inappropriateness.

"Bella, if you're questioning your sexuality, I'd be willing to help you experiment."

"I'm sure I'd have plenty of suitors," Bella says and her dark eyes are on me. She's staring again and this time I'm uncomfortable for a whole other reason.

"Dude, this heavy shit is bringing me down. Let's play cards. Shit on your Neighbor Or Fuck the Dealer." Jake nods at Bella. "You got cards?"

"Uno momento," she says before she prances inside. It reminds me of sixth period Spanish with Rosalie.

"I'll be back," I announce and Jake tosses his roach into my Dr. Pepper. I guess I was finished with that anyway.

"You gonna go get your girl?" Jake asks and I shrug.

"I'm just gonna..." I trail off because he knows where I'm going. Even before I do. He gives me a bro hug, and wishes me luck. I don't really have a plan in place, but I don't think luck will have anything to do with it.

But this is my chance. It has to be. Seeing her sister at Saturday school, the tutoring, Jake finding that Victoria chick outside smoking. That's way too many coincidences. Something huge is going to happen tonight.

I head to the kitchen, searching for a trash can, and like a sign from the heavens above, Rosalie walks into the room. She's alone, holding a dozen empty cups. She opens a cupboard and trashes the cups. There's the fucking trash can. I hate it when people hide their trash cans in cupboards. It's so demeaning.

She opens the fridge. Her cheeks are pink against her ivory skin, like a fricking Disney princess or something. She finds a bottle of beer and is trying to get the cap off so I swoop on the opportunity.

"Here, let me get that for you," I say and Rosalie practically jumps.

"Oh my word! You scared me," she says and then laughs. I smile and pop off the cap. I hand her back the bottle and her eyes are soft.

"It's not mine," she says, nodding towards the beer.

"I didn't think it was," I shrug and she beams.

"How's Calculus been? Any better?" she asks and I'm just ecstatic she even remembers me.

"Oh, loads. It's like a whole new world, that class. You should see me, I'm calculating slopes and graphing functions and stuff..." I trail off.

There's this little hot dog magnet on the fridge. You can pull the wiener out of the bun and put it back together. Completely grotesque. I can't keep my hands off it. I keep popping the hot dog out of the bun. Every time I do it, it clicks.

"My uncle got that for me when he was in Coney Island. It's ridiculous but Bella won't let my mom toss it," Rose laughs.

Now. Do it now, while she's laughing. How bad can it be if she's smiling?

"Hey, Rose. I know you don't really date but do you think maybe you'd like to see a movie with me or something?" I ask.

She looks down. It's not going to fly. My face starts burning even before the words are out of her mouth.

"I'd really like that, Edward," she says.

Oh, Jesus the sweet relief. It's short-lived, though because she quickly adds: "I'd really like to be your friend."

Friend.

It's okay. She could not want to be my anything.

"Cool," I say and make a break for the back door. "See you around."

"Monday!" she calls behind me and I give her a wave.

That could have been worse. She didn't completely shut me down. Could be counted as a success, right?

Shit, why did I bail? Now she's going to think I'm scared or weird or something. Why couldn't I just be cool about it, act like that's all that I want too? Friends. That's how the best relationships start, right? Friends.

I head back outside and Jake, Mike and Bella are playing Fuck the Dealer. They've been throwing back vodka shots and they're completely plastered. To my surprise, Ben's making out with the Giggler bitch on one of the lounge chairs.

"Edward! We need a fourth!" Jake calls and I take my time walking over to them. Bella's doing a pretty good job of controlling her limbs but Mike's toasted and letting it all hang out.

"This girl…" he says and points his finger at Bella, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "This girl is fucking amazing. I'm gonna marry her."

Bella snorts and she and Mike erupt into fits of laughter. Then Bella gasps.

"Let's do it! Right now!" Bella says. "Edward, you can be the wedding speech giver or whatever he's called."

"The priest?" I ask, confused and they burst into giggles again.

"But you don't have a bouquet. Or a garter," Mike says. "What will you throw after the ceremony?"

"Throw your bra," Jake suggests.

"I've used my bra as a slingshot before," Bella says. "No lie."

Who would lie about that?

"What? That's not even possible. Physically speaking, of course." Jake's got ulterior motives here, I can tell. I've seen that look in his eye before.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Bella scoffs.

"Prove it," he whispers in her face and she chews her lip.

"Fine," she spits and stands up. She takes off her coat and her shirt underneath is really thin. She's going to get sick, I just know it.

She reaches under the front of her shirt and unclasps her bra, her eyes fixed on Jake the whole time. I've never really thought about it before, but bras that clasp in the front are kind of hot.

"Bella, you don't have to." I'm starting to feel slightly uncomfortable about this whole thing.

"Shut up, Edward. Not a big deal." She smiles at Jake as she pulls the straps off her shoulders and through the sleeves. Once her bra's off, she quickly zips her coat in place and is MacGyvering a sling shot out of the stretchy blue fabric. She picks up a small rock, pulls back and launches the object into the air.

"See?" she says smugly and before it can be stopped, Jakes snatches the bra from her hand.

"I want to try," he says. He sounds like a five year old.

Bella motions to him to be her guest and he searches for a small rock to shoot. When he's found an object that will suffice, he positions the rock, pulls back and shoots.

It drops to the ground with a thud right by his feet. Failure to launch. Mike and Bella laugh hysterically and I can't help but join in.

I'm thinking Jake will laugh with us, but he's pissed. He throws the bra high in the air, right into that oak. It snags on a branch and there it stays.

"Fuck!" Bella shouts. "You have to get that down."

"Why? I think it's awesome! For years, you'll look up there and remember me." Jake laughs but Bella's throwing a fit.

"You have to get it down. That's my sister's bra. She'll kill me if she finds out I borrowed it."

Holy shit, that piece of fabric has touched Rosalie's tits.

"I'll get it," I say and Jake laughs hysterically. Bella's silent but her eyes might as well be screaming at me. I don't like how she stares, like she's figuring me out.

It doesn't take me long to scale the tree. I grab the bra, the soft fabric is stretchy and thick. Huh, there sure is a lot of padding in this thing.

Bella's watching with squinted eyes so I toss the bra down to her. She fumbles to catch it, but it's intercepted by Jake. He runs and Bella chases, their little game an obvious outlet for massive amounts of sexual tension.

I move my hand to a lower branch and I'm about to step down when I see a flash of movement on the side of the house. It's a small enclosed area and I remember Bella mentioned a garden. This must be what she was talking about.

There's someone over there. I climb a little higher and peer through the bare branches.

Shit, it's two someones. And I'm pretty sure they're fucking.

I lean down and try to make out the faces but all I can see is the back of the dude's head and the top of his white ass glowing like a fucking beacon. He's a big guy, tall and completely shadowing whatever he's thrusting into.

It's like a train wreck. I know it's weird to stare but my curiosity is persistent. _Who is that?_

Whoever it is, they're awful quiet. Not that I have a ton of experience with sex, but I've watched a lot of it.

The guy grabs her leg and a pair of hands wrap around his shoulders and then slide up the back of his neck. He presses his face into a shoulder and I might just get a glimpse of her face. I inch further out on the branch, as far as I can without being seen.

A little closer. Just a little…

I can see her. Honey hair and luminescent skin.

Rosalie. My Rosalie. My sweet, virginal Rosalie who doesn't date and is saving herself for marriage. Or politics.

Maybe he's hurting her. Maybe she can't fight him off. Maybe she needs me to save her.

Maybe I'm delusional.

I can't breathe. I try to steady myself but my hands won't stop shaking. My foot slips, and the branch is so cold it's making my fingers throb.

This cannot be happening.

Oh God, it's spinning. The tree, the dotted sky, the damp grass below. It's all spinning and I don't know which way to climb anymore. I keep seeing her. Eyes closed, mouth open, a fog around her face. Her fingers digging into his neck, her leg hitched around his hip.

Oh God, I'm going to be sick.

The sky disappears, blades of grass grow larger and larger and then I'm absorbed. The earth slams against every cell in my body, my head flings back and there's pain.

Daggers shoot through my shoulder, my neck snaps like a rubber band against a naughty wrist. It's all dulled by the ache in my chest.

Fire washes over me and then I freeze, icy coagulation in my veins. My heart fights to force the fluid through my organs and then it escapes, the gash in my scalp creating a path of least resistance.

How long I lay there with thick jellied blood, I don't know. It feels like years.

"Edward?"

That voice. She's probably staring at me right now. At the blood pooling around my ear, at the obscene twist of bone and flesh. Trying to figure me out from the inside.

"Edward! Oh my God, Edward, wake up! Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me." She's bossing me around and I don't appreciate it.

Then there's warmth. Heat radiates around my fingers and up into my elbow and I jerk my arm away.

"He's conscious," she says. "Call 911!"

It's getting louder and the warmth is spreading, a slow wildfire now in my face and then my neck.

"You're not supposed to move the body."

"For Christ sake, he's not dead, Jake."

"Put this under his head."

My head rests on a cottony cloud and I let myself float. Her touch is a life vest, the squeeze tethering me to reality as I drift between consciousnesses. It doesn't hurt anymore, not really. I'm numb.

Not bad for a crash landing.

…

**A/N:**

****So not exactly the time of his life we were expecting, huh? I can't wait to hear your thoughts! I'm really trying to respond to reviews but ffn is fucking pissing me off with this new format. So I apologize if I don't get to reply. It means I got fed up with the all the clicking bullshit and had to take a step away from the computer. But I love your comments and I want to kiss all your faces.

**Boo** prereads and **Lightstardusting** beta's like a Christmas miracle.

Thank you for reading!


	5. Me Against the World

CH 5 – Me Against the World

…

More drugs. I need more drugs.

Why didn't anyone tell me how awesome drugs are? It took a cracked skull, concussion, broken collarbone and three bruised ribs for me to find out how much I love drugs.

The doctors think I had some sort of panic attack or seizure or something before I fell out of the tree. I landed on my left side and snapped my collarbone. They think I smacked my head on one of the limbs because there's a nice, three inch gash right on the back of my skull. They shaved my head and stitched me up.

Good as new.

I could be dead, I guess. A few more inches and it would have been my neck snapping against that branch. Instead, I'm stuck in a hospital bed until any risk of brain damage or internal bleeding has been ruled out. I guess I was unconscious a long time. It's got the docs all riled up but my brain doesn't _feel _damaged. Just numb.

Which is probably the drugs. Beautiful, glorious opiates.

"Edward, honey, do you need anything?" My mom's hair is pulled back in a bun, not a lick of makeup on her face, and she's wearing sweats. Well, a sweat suit. Like a pants suit you're allowed to sweat in.

"I'm fine," I mumble.

The rest of my body hurts like hell and my arm's trapped in a sling. There goes the whole fucking season, the rest of my high school career. I won't be able to play trumpet for at least six weeks.

My mom hasn't been home in two days, ever since she got the call that I was rushed to the emergency room with head injuries. My dad comes and goes and my sister's using my hospital stay to further her impending docudrama. She's already been to her midwife to see if the baby incurred any trauma because of her emotional distress. The only benefit is that the hospital gave me one of the big rooms, to accommodate for Alice's camera crew. It's amazing what you can accomplish with potential television time. Everyone wants their five minutes.

Mike, Jake and Jessica come to visit and they bring me my music and a bag of CornNuts. I can't eat them. The crunching hurts my head. Mike apologizes about eighty times for letting me lay in the grass for so long. I guess Jake and pot-head Paul got into a fight in the front yard right before I fell.

"Yeah, Paul starts saying shit to me so I popped him in the mouth. Then he fucking came at me."

"Jake, language!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Masen. Anyway, Bella ran off to find her sister and comes back with Emmett McCarty, of all people. Emmett grabs Paul and literally tosses him across the lawn like a rag doll. Impressive shit, man."

"Jake!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Masen. But Emmett's badass."

"Jacob Black!"

"Look, Mrs. Masen sometimes you need a stronger adjective to capture the exact emotion you're meaning to convey. That's why they invented swear words. That's just how it is. I didn't make the rules." My mom rolls her eyes and goes back to her _Self_ magazine.

"I thought Paul was a pacifist," I say.

"Naw, man, he's a loose cannon. Roid rage or some shit." My mom's silent but purses her lips and Jake shrugs off her glances of disapproval.

Jessica sits on the end of my hospital bed, her hand on my leg. She keeps sniffling, like she wants to cry. It's irritating as all fuck and I want to tell her to knock it off. Instead, Mike hijacks the conversation.

"So, what exactly happened, Edward?"

He's the first one to ask.

"I fell out of a tree," I say. I'm not really prepared to answer questions yet. Because I'm not really sure what exactly happened.

"Yeah, but like, why? I mean, how?"

"What do you mean, why? Because I felt like cracking my head open," I mock and Mike looks down.

"It's just not like you," he says and I frown. Observant little fucker.

I drop the subject and they do too. Jessica's eyes are in a constant state of pity and I don't want to look at her anymore.

Ben and the red-head giggler stop by and I fake sleep the entire time they're here. My mom blames the drugs but I just don't have the mental and emotional stamina to deal with people right now.

Not when all I can think about is Rosalie. Pristine, perfect, virginal Rosalie.

Her parted lips. Her fingers digging into some asshole's back.

Maybe it was the panic attack or my mind playing tricks on me. Is it possible I imagined the whole thing? Maybe I'm just going insane. Honestly, I'd rather accept that explanation over anything else.

Over the next few days, I undergo a battery of tests. X-Ray, MRI, EEG, CAT scan; a shitload of acronyms that all say the same thing. There's nothing wrong with me.

I don't know why they can't just let me go home. I've about had it with this place. If one more person wakes me up to stick me with a needle, I'm going to declare mutiny.

I'm set to leave tomorrow morning, but the stupid doctor hasn't come to clear me yet. My music player is dead and I'm forced to avoid conversation with good old-fashioned insolence. Luckily, my mom picked up my independent study packet from school, so at least I can pretend to read _The Bell Jar_. Yes, a book about some suicidal chick is better than trying to talk to my family.

"Edward?" That voice. I know that voice. I look up from my book and Bella's standing in the doorway.

"Hey," she says with a wave, still hovering in the doorway. What is she doing here?

"Oh my god, Bella!" My sister's on her feet. She waddles over to give her a hug, like they just spoke yesterday. The camera guy's right in her face and Bella's mortified.

"Hey girl, look at you," Bella says, her eyes wide at Alice's embrace. She smirks at me and it makes me grin.

Bella finally steps fully into the room and she's not alone. She's tailed by Rosalie who's linked to none other than Emmett McCarty. Rose's fingers press into the back of Emmett's hand.

And then, it clicks.

It was him. It was real and it was him.

They look so perfect together. Golden. With their khakis and cashmere. All beautiful and shit. Even their heights are compatible.

What the fuck are they doing here?

"Hi..." Rose drags out the word, her eyes on the camera the whole time.

"Hi girls! Wow, you are just all grown up now. Look at these beautiful girls!" My mom stands and looks at me, like I've never seen them before. Oh my God, this day cannot get any worse.

"Thank you, Mrs. Masen. We feel awful about what happened. We just wanted to make sure Edward was doing okay and to see if there was anything you need." Politics. Rose is definitely going into politics. I wonder who wrote this speech. Fake ass bitch.

"Oh, that's just so sweet," my mom says and then looks at me again. Does she want me to say something?

Bella plops down on the edge of my bed. Shit. How long do they plan on staying? Because I might explode.

"So, how you doing man?" Emmett shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me a nod.

Ugh, what an asshole!

"Well, I'm alive," I mutter and then Bella's on her feet again, inspecting my head wound.

"Dude, that's going to be a pretty raunchy scar," Bella mumbles beside me. "Bitchin'."

"I'm glad you approve," I say and Bella laughs.

"Nice cut. Both of them," she says and then gently touches the top of my shaved head.

And then silence. Bella's staring at me, I'm staring at Rosalie, Rosalie's staring at Emmett. Like a fucked up visual circle jerk.

"So, when's your baby due?" Bella asks my sister and I close my eyes. _Please, just let them leave._

"End of December," Alice says proudly, her hand resting on her massive belly.

"Wow! You could have a Christmas baby!" Rose says and I roll my eyes. Yep, just like Jesus.

And then silence. Again.

"Well, I guess we'd better take off." Rosalie grabs Emmett's hand and I want to vomit.

No, seriously. I'm going to puke.

"Bucket!" I manage to mumble. "Bucket!"

"What?" My mom's just standing there, looking at me.

"Bucket!" Bella jumps up and grabs a trash bin. Just in time too. I hurl, right there in front of the girl that I love and the guy whom she's fucking.

"Oh! Edward!" It sounds like my mom's scolding me. How dare I puke in the presence of guests!

I spit into the trash can and Bella hands me a paper towel from the adjacent bathroom. She's staring again and I feel like a fool.

"You okay?" she asks. It's a simple question, but the way she asks, it's like she _knows_. Like she can see right through me, analyzing me from the inside out. It's fucking creepy.

"Solid," I say and she squeezes my hand.

Just then the RN bustles in. Someone must have called. In minutes, there's no evidence of the digestive malfunction and everything is back to normal. There's also no evidence that the Hale sisters were ever in my room. Alice is watching television, her camera guy reviewing the tape of me puking. Great. Best day ever.

"How you doing, baby?" My mom asks after about twenty minutes of listening to Dr. Phil's weight loss makeovers.

"Fine, Mom. Top notch," I say.

"Are you sure? Would you like a juice? Or some soup?" She persists.

"I'm fine." I close my eyes and try to tune out the buzz of the television.

"Her hair looks horrible! Ugh, why would they do that to her? If this was my makeover, I'd be so pissed," Alice says. She keeps popping her gum. Her leg keeps tapping against my bedside table and it's making my water ripple. Like Jurassic Park.

"Are you in pain? Do you want me to get the nurse?" My mom's all up in my face and I wish I could run away. Or move. Or breathe.

"Mom, did you see this? She looks ridiculous!" _Pop, pop, pop_.

"Do you want to read your book or something? Maybe take a nap?" My mom smooths my hair, feels my face.

"Her face is way too fat for a bob." _Tap, tap, tap._

"Edward, are you listening to me?"

"Will you both just shut the fuck up? God! Get the hell out of here, you're driving me crazy!" I scream. And then, for good measure I add: "Jesus, fucking Christ!"

Silence.

My mom gets up and quickly walks out the door. My sister's looking at me like I just dropkicked a puppy. She scoffs in disgust and hurries to find my mom, her camera crew scuttling off behind her.

I should feel bad for yelling at them like that. I'm not supposed to upset my mom and stress is bad for Alice's baby. And that shit's probably been recorded. I'll be known as the poor pregnant girl's asshole brother.

But I don't feel bad. I don't feel anything.

No, that's not true. I feel powerful.

I told them to leave and they did.

This feels amazing.

Almost as good as the drugs.

…

"Mom!" I yell from my room. "Come help me!"

My mom rushes in, a toothbrush in her mouth.

"I can't get my shirt off," I say miserably and she pulls the sleeve from my good arm. She helps guide it over my head and gently pulls it down my left arm. I try like hell not to move it, and I'm reminded of the consequences when I do. Extreme fucking pain.

"Ow! Mom, fuck!" Cursing has become an outlet for my frustration. My mom doesn't even try to stop it anymore. Not after I explained it was either harsh words or breaking shit. There was only one casualty too; a clay ashtray Alice made last year in ceramics. My parents claimed it was art. It looked better smashed against the wall.

"I'm sorry, pudding. I'm trying to be gentle," she says, her pasty toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. She keeps coming up with terms of endearment for me, each one more nauseating than the previous. Pet names that double as desserts are not flattering. Especially when it's from your mom.

"Well, you're kind of sucking at it," I grumble and she just sighs.

"Which one are you wearing today?" she asks and I shrug. With my good shoulder. It's only half as effective.

"I don't really care. Just pick one," I say. She takes her time, choosing a light blue polo that I'd rather cut my arm off than wear to school and a green sweater that won't go over my head and shoulder without a fight. I just stare at her and she throws them both on the bed with a scoff.

"This?" she asks exasperated and holds up my Dr. Pepper logo t-shirt. I mutter a half-ass approval and she hesitantly slides the shirt up my limp left arm and helps it over my head.

"I got it," I say and she lets it go. She helps me into the brace, wrapping the sling around my neck and holding my arm immobile. Kind of like a straight jacket. You know, the kind they use for crazy people.

"Do you need help with your pants?" she asks and I shake my head no. Luckily, I devised a way to get my pants up and fastened on my own. I had to learn that shit right quick. There's no way I am going to go to school and not know how to get my pants up. Good news, though. Being able to get my pants off with one hand may get me laid at some point in the future.

"Okay, holler if you need anything, sugar." Vomit.

I managed to avoid school for a total of two weeks. I just told my mom that my shoulder hurt like hell and that I couldn't be held accountable for my behavior while on painkillers. She agreed and boom! Another week of Independent Study.

My dad had to cancel a couple of clients so he could sit with me while my mom went grocery shopping and stuff. I couldn't even take a piss on my own at first. You don't realize how much stuff you need two hands for. Even internet stalking is tricky, especially considering I fell on my writing/mouse maneuvering arm. This whole thing has completely destroyed my social life. Do you know how hard it is to jerk off to internet porn with one hand? It's time consuming. And messy.

I've pretty much given up on my appearance. My hair's gone and while I didn't have a huge amount of self-confidence when it was here, it was the one thing I had going for me. Now I'm going to have to rely on my stellar personality.

Band is a bust, unless I grow a few extra fingers and become ambidextrous. I'm stuck being Cullen's bitch. My counselor suggested I drop band all together, but Mr. Cullen was kind enough to let me T.A. Who would pass up free labor?

I can't drive. My mom's taking us to school today. She doesn't trust Alice with her Audi and Alice can't drive a stick, so my car's out of the question. This all makes going back to school about as appealing as a cavity search.

The only plus is that I don't have to carry my books from class to class. All my teachers are required to keep a text in the classroom for me. So there's that.

My mom drops Alice off first, because she wants to go into the office and speak with my principal and counselor about gym and band and stuff. I guess to make sure graduation won't be effected by all this shit. It's kind of weird how she cares all of a sudden. I mean, three weeks ago she thought Saturday school was extra credit.

My mom parks and walks with me on campus. Jake meets me at the gate and it's just another level of irritation. I've been avoiding him. I can't get over the fact that he just let me bleed under that tree. Not that it was his fault or whatever, but that would not have happened to any of my friends on my watch. The fact that not one of them came to look for me is really shitty. It makes me wonder if they even noticed I was missing.

"Hi Mrs. Masen," Jake says as my mom waves and jets off to the office. "Dude, your mom's hot. I never really noticed before, but she holds her own against all these high school chicks."

"Thanks for that little piece of psychologically damaging info," I mutter and Jake thinks he's hilarious.

"Does she know Mr. Cullen?"

I look over and my mom's standing outside the office building with my band teacher. She's touching his arm and he's messing with his hair and they're both all smiles.

"Ugh, so disturbing," I say and Jake whistles.

"Damn, son, your mom's got game. Look at her go," he says and for some reason, this makes my blood boil.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Jake," I growl.

"And what if I don't? You going to do something about it?" he smirks and now I'm fucking pissed. I want to hit him, but I've only got one good arm, so I just give him a shove and take off.

"You're lucky you're already hurt! I'd take you down, brother!" He yells after me.

"You're not my brother, dick!" I yell back and flip him off.

There's no way I'm going to class now. I don't want to deal with that asshole and his fuckery. I've spent a good portion of my life watching out for him. It's about time I let him fall on his ass.

I've never really ditched class before. Not like this. I mean, I'm just wandering the halls. I could be vandalizing shit, causing a ruckus and there's no one here to even stop me.

"Edward?" That voice. I turn around and Bella Hale is standing outside her classroom. Her rainbow hair's pulled back into two buns, like fricking Princess Leia. She's wearing this brown fuzzy hooded sweater with these pom-pom things hanging from the hood. She looks like a mouse.

"Hey," I say and wave with my good arm.

"How's your head?" she asks and I bring my hand to my head. They removed the staples before I left the hospital but then they put this glue stuff over it so there's no scab, just a numb slab of ragged skin. All this shit with my collar bone, kind of made me even forget it was there.

"Good, I guess. I'm not hallucinating or anything yet, so that's a plus," I say and she laughs. It echoes in the empty hall and I quickly look around. Shit, she's got a big mouth!

"You can relax. No one cares you're out here," she says, like it's the most obvious fact on the planet.

"You did," I challenge and again, with the staring. Her eyes finally flutter to the floor and her lips twitch into a smirk.

"See you around, Edward," she says and then disappears into the classroom.

What the hell did that mean? And why the hell do I care?

I decide to head over to the band room. The hour has got to be almost over by now. I check my cell phone. It's only been like twenty minutes. Man, ditching class is boring as fuck.

I sit outside the room, sharpening my pencil on one of the red bricks. I'm trying to get the point as sharp as possible, spending equal amounts of time and pressure on every side.

"Wow, your promptness is impressive," Mr. Cullen says behind me and I drop my pencil. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Nope, just got here," I lie. I just lied to a teacher. Can he tell? Is he analyzing my pupils? Did I stutter? I don't remember!

"I see," he says, his eyes flickering over to the charcoaled brick. I quickly stand up as he unlocks the door and holds it open for me. "Well, I'm glad you're early. We can discuss your duties before the rest of the students arrive."

I lean against the wall. I wonder if I can get my mom to let me take my drugs to school. I popped a pill this morning but my head is throbbing.

"I understand how disappointing this must be for you and I want you to know, it's a bummer for me too. You're one of the good ones, Edward. A great talent, and a great kid and I've enjoyed working with you the last three years." Mr. Cullen must have recognized the look of discontent I've been perfecting the last couple weeks. Yay, me.

"It's fine," I say and Mr. Cullen shrugs.

"I'm sure it is. It's also unfortunate." He's matter-of-fact. I can tell it's not bullshit, but his concern is kind of grating on my nerves.

"So what can I do for you, Mr. Cullen?" I ask. I need a diversion. I don't really want to talk about how unfortunate I am anymore.

"I'm going to need you to make thirty copies of today's new music and then phone the boosters and see if we can portion some funds for Homecoming. In addition to the half-time show, we're going to need volunteers for the parade." Mr. Cullen hands me a folder. God, I hate speaking with people on the phone. It's so cumbersome and prone to misunderstanding. Can't I just text the boosters? Or email? They have to have email, right?

My classmates start trickling in and Mike gets to class early. I'm in Cullen's office and right away, he's hassling me about Jake.

"What did you do?" he says and I scoff.

"How do you know I did something? Why can't it be something he did?" I spit and Mike frowns.

"I'm sure it _was_ something he did. But he's the asshole, not you."

"Look, I'm sick of his big fat mouth. I've had it. It's almost been ten years of this shit and I'm just done with it, you know?"

"I get it. You have no idea how much I get it. Just give him some space. He'll come around," Mike says and pats me on the back. Like I'm twelve.

Somehow, I make it through the morning. By lunch, I want to pass out. My head is throbbing and my arm feels like it's going to fall off. The thought of eating is making me nauseous and I kind of want to punch someone in the face.

No, not someone. Everyone.

I purchase my Dr. Pepper and cookies and am trying to vacate the premises as quickly as possible. I almost make it out too, but who should march through that door just as I'm leaving but Rosalie Hale. She's flanked by Lauren and Tyler and latched to Emmett.

Maybe it's the painkillers or the concussion, but something snaps in my brain. Like I can see myself moving before I do it and I know this is going to be a bad, bad idea. I walk right up to her, forcing her to look me in the face and acknowledge my existence. I mean, who does she think she is, ignoring people like that?

She smiles at me, warm and sweet, and for a moment, I'm smitten. Then I remember her gaping mouth and fluttering eye lashes and I remember, she's fake as all fuck. Emmett's got his finger hooked in her belt loop and it burns. Anger. Jealousy. Disappointment. It's all bubbling up in my gut like hot lava. Any minute, I'm going to explode.

"Hey, Edward. We still on for after school?" she asks and it takes me a minute to figure out what the hell she's talking about. Oh yeah, tutoring. That I'm paying for. That I don't really need.

"I don't think I need your help anymore," I say.

"Oh. Okay," she says, confused. Maybe even disappointed? "That's too bad, I was looking forward to becoming friends."

And there it is. The straw. The feather. The final blow. Whatever idiom you want to use, I break.

"Oh, were you?" I laugh. A big, gut busting, maniacal laugh. It doesn't sound like me. But it must be because my face is hot and my stomach hurts. "Honey, I don't pay for company. Unless you're a whore. Are you a whore?"

"Hey," Emmett tries to intercede but Rose is intent on handling this herself. I knew she would be. She's not the damsel in distress type.

"It's a shame we live in a society where enterprising women are regarded as whores, regardless the service they provide. This is exactly the misogynistic attitude that causes our society to wither away from social advances rather than benefit from them. Besides, in ancient cities, sexual companions were regarded as women of art and power, the ability to please placed among the highest regard." Her nose is in the air, her violet eyes ablaze and goddamn it, there's a fucking smirk upon her delicious red lips. She's the sexiest creature I've ever seen.

"I'm well-acquainted with your ability to please," I spit and then pain shoots down my arm. Emmett shoves me, my left side searing at the contact and I think I'm hyperventilating.

"Emmett! Knock it off! He didn't mean it. He's hurting," I hear Rose screech.

Oh, honey, you have no idea.

"Fuck!" I grit my teeth and try to breathe. Tears blur my vision and the room is washed with white.

"Who cares, Ro? He's a prick!" Ro? What a fucking dumb ass nickname.

"No he's not. He's just having a hard time right now. Jesus, have some compassion." Shit, she's defending me. That's all I need, this chick making me look stupid and weak all in one lunch period.

I don't know how it happens. Maybe it's the pain making me crazy, or my head wound but before I know it, I'm charging at Emmett. I slam into his gut with my good shoulder and then we're on the floor. I'm punching with my good arm and I want to hurt him. I want to make my pain his. I keep flinging my fist until I'm pulled away.

I kick and flail, like a wild fucking animal and Mr. Cullen pins me to the ground. His knee's on the small of my back and he pulls my right arm up behind me.

"Edward! Stop! That's enough, it's done." He's calm, yet firm and I feel all the energy seep from my limbs.

"Is he okay? Is he hurt?" Rosalie's voice is close and it echoes off the spongy walls of my brain.

It's the last thing I remember before everything goes black.

…

**A/N:**

I guess we all know what Edward got for Christmas, a big set of balls.

Merry Merry Everything! Whatever you're celebrating, or not celebrating, I hope it's amazing.

**Boo** prereads and makes me think I'm hilarious.

**Lightstardusting** gives me the low down. She's like a beta ninja...Just like Santa's a Christmas ninja.

Thank you for reading!


	6. America's Most Wanted

CH 6 – America's Most Wanted

…

"It's normal to experience upset stomach, memory loss, and irritability during the first few weeks of recovery. I don't think there's any cause for concern." This doctor looks like he's twelve. He keeps checking his cell phone. I think he's trying to get me out of here so he can finish his game of Angry Birds.

"Well, I'd like to be sure," my mom persists. Of course she would. She's not the one sitting in her underwear on a crinkly piece of paper. One false move and I'll have a paper-cut the size of Texas on my ass. I could bleed out.

I don't even know why she's here. Note to self: Mom's not allowed at any more of my doctor's appointments. It's kind of inappropriate.

The boy genius sighs, checks his phone, _clackity clacks _on the computer.

"We can have him seen by the neurologist again. Might I suggest rehabilitation therapy? It's common for children who've experienced physical trauma such as this to also suffer emotionally."

Children? Who the hell is he talking about?

"Yes, I think we'll do both. Can't be too safe, right?" My mom giggles, like my mental stability's a joke or something.

_Clack, clack, clack. _

More computer stuff. The child wonder shakes our hands and is out the door. I didn't even have to say anything.

"Don't worry, honey. We'll find out what's wrong with you, I promise," my mom says before she leaves the room so I can get dressed.

The truth is, there's nothing wrong with me. For the first time in my life, I actually feel okay. Relieved. Like a billion responsibilities have just been lifted from my shoulders.

Something happened when I fell out of that tree. Some kind of miracle, or something. All my life I've been a problem solver. I've stood by and watched everyone around me fall on their face and every time I was frantic to help them up. I thought it would make them respect me. I thought it would make them value me. I thought it would make them love me. I've been patiently waiting for karma to cut me some slack and when I was in that tree, I got a message, a very visceral message from karma.

_Go fuck yourself._

All my patience, my desire to fit in, to help out, to be useful, it all spilled from my body the moment I cracked my head open. Suddenly, everything made sense.

I keep telling them but they don't believe me. Concussion, post-traumatic stress, focal lesions in the orbito-frontal cortex and anterior temporal lobes. They have lots of words to describe something very simple.

I don't give a shit anymore.

I park my ass in front of the television when we get home. My mom moved the Xbox down to the big TV because she was sick of having to run upstairs every time I needed something. I think she forgot I can walk. I'm not going to remind her.

"How are you feeling, honey?" she asks and pokes at the wound on my head. I jerk away and she sighs.

"Fine," I answer and shove my Elven blade through the gut of a troll. I've decided gaming is part of my rehabilitation therapy.

"I fixed your favorite, meatloaf. It's on a plate in the microwave. Daddy and I are meeting Jasper and Alice at Graziano's. Are you sure you don't want to go?"

"Nope, I'm good," I say, my eyes glued to the set. It's Friday. Game night. The first one I've missed in three years. It's a little disorienting. I'm handling it with pain meds.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't know Rosalie was going to be there. With him. Probably sitting on his lap. Making out under a fleece blanket. Fucking under the bleachers.

_Urge to kill rising…_

"Edward? Did you hear me?"

"Nope," I say and my mom sighs. I can see her in my periphery with her hands on her hips. I'm sure she looks indignant.

"Let's go, babydoll!" My dad skips down the stairs, just happy as a clam. It makes me want to punch him. "You coming along, Sport?"

"I'd rather chew my arm off," I mumble as he fixes his tie in the hall mirror.

"What was that?" he asks. He smooths his hair, adjusts his glasses.

"I'll probably just nod off." I fake yawn just as Ben signs onto Xbox Live. BigBen247. That's his gamer tag. Or as I like to call it, his lamer tag. "I'm zonked."

"Well, try to get some rest." There's a whirlwind of wool; sweaters, scarves, gloves. And then door slams shut behind them. Ah, silence.

Ben and I play a couple rounds of Halo; then I get bored and put on the Bourne Trilogy. Finally, I take a couple pain pills and I'm out before ten. Friday night of champions, right there.

The weekend's pretty uneventful and I have a serious case of cabin fever. By Monday, I'm actually looking forward to school. I avoid eye contact like the plague, though. Try to be invisible. I'm attempting to sleep through Calculus with my eyes open when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I ignore it. It's probably Jessica. She's been driving me fucking nuts. She made me brownies on Saturday, brought over a few video games yesterday, and texts me every twenty minutes. It's like the more I ignore her, the worse it gets.

It buzzes again and Eric Yorkie keeps looking at my pocket. He gives me this weird look, so I check the message.

_Hey, just wanted to see how you were holding up. _

_Rose_

What the actual fuck?

But wait, there's more.

_And I'm sorry about Emmett. He doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. _

I'm pretty sure I kicked Emmett's ass. Sure, I was at a severe disadvantage, but I'm positive I was the victor is that little scuffle. Mr. Cullen had to pull _me _off of _him_. That's kind of badass.

I don't know how to respond. Part of me wants to type a quick message to address her concern. It's nice, I guess, for her to be concerned. If she really is concerned.

But that bigger part, that untrusting, painfully bitter cynic, wants to tell her to fuck off.

Then there's a part of me that just wants nothing to do with her. _Ignore it_, he tells me. If she's really concerned, she'll find me.

Wow, that's a lot of parts. What can I say? I'm a complicated guy.

I'm pretty sure I'll never speak with Rosalie Hale again.

Which is why when she finds me on the steps outside the stadium during lunch, I'm completely discombobulated. I can't sort out any of my parts.

"Hey," she says. She stands beside me and I sit in her shadow. She's wearing this red pea coat with a hood, like Little Red Riding Hood. It makes her cheeks look pink. I wish she'd stop being beautiful so I could hate her already.

"'Sup," I say, cool as a cucumber. She squints and tilts her head to the side and she reminds me of her sister. Analyzing. Calculating. Figuring me out. I don't like it.

"You okay?" she asks and I shrug. With my good shoulder. She sits on the step next to me. Her leg leans against mine and we're hip to hip, knee to knee, the tip of her shoe wedged against my heel.

"I'm fine," I say when I can no longer stand her hair tickling my arm. "Just peachy."

"Really? Your shoes are untied and your sleeves are unbuttoned. And your fly's down." Rosalie's lips twitch. I cannot look at my fly. It's imperative. I can't let her know she affects me.

"Why are you looking at my fly?" I ask and she laughs.

"So we're playing the question game now, are we?" She bends down to tie my shoes. It's nice. And irritating.

"I guess. Why are you sitting so damn close to me?" I ask as she leans back against the step. I lean back too. I don't like having my back to her.

"Why do you keep trying to insult me?" She laughs. She thinks I'm joking.

"Why do you care, all of a sudden?" I mutter because her question stirs up all kinds of unresolved feelings. Why _am_ I being so mean to her? It's not like she knew I was in love with her. It's not like she asked me to climb that tree or forced me to watch her fuck Emmett McCarty. She probably didn't even notice I was there.

She's noticing me now.

"Do you like me, Edward?" she asks quietly and my eyes snap to hers.

"Who told you that?" I ask because if it was Jake, I'm going to kill him.

"Why does it matter?" Her foot slides against mine.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" I ask and she laughs again, this time her hand's on my leg. Jesus, I think she's really trying to seduce me. "Do I need an adult?"

"Do you want to hang out later?" she asks. Strands of honey blond dance across her pink cheeks. And she smiles. Shy. Sly. I can't tell.

"Can I ask you something?" It's not really a question, because I'm going to ask no matter her response. "Why are you with Emmett?"

Her fingers guide the loose strands home behind her ears before she leans forward over her legs. She's staring at me again and her face is close. Her lips graze my cheek and her breath is warm on my skin. Tiny hairs tingle on my arms and neck.

"He asked."

…

Every year, my parents have a huge costume party for Halloween. They invite the neighbors and get plastered. It's like the costumes give them a free pass to pretend they're seventeen again. Needless to say, Alice and I aren't allowed to be home tonight. Not since we videotaped my mom peeing in the bathtub because someone was puking in the toilet. It's one of the reasons I hate alcohol so much. It completely destroys any illusion of honorability a person might possess.

I'm staying at Mike's this weekend. His mom's out of town, so we'll be hosting a Halloween soiree of our own. Zombie apocalypse theme, of course. Bring your own shot gun.

"_Night of the Living Dead_ is seriously the scariest of all zombie cinematic endeavors. The original. Not that new shit. Black and white. No survivors. That's how zombies should be done." Mike hits the bong. He was already faded when I got here. And he's on his third beer.

"Naw man,_ Dead Snow_. Nazi zombies. There's no contest," Jake says as Mike hands him the bong. He lights and inhales like a pro, sucking any residual smoke from the cylinder.

"I'm going to have to go with _Dawn_, dude. I've said it before, like Empire, the sequel supersedes. Really made me think about the future, man. Are you prepared for the zombie apocalypse?" Ben points at my chest before lighting the bowl. He inhales and hands it over to me.

I'm not exactly sure how to do this but I'm far too proud to ask. Trial and error, I suppose, is my only course of action.

I put my mouth over the wide opening and light the bowl. Like Ben did. And Jake. And Mike. God, it's like we all just made out.

I should focus. Especially because I have no idea what I'm doing.

Luckily, Mike sees me fumbling with my good arm and he lights the thing for me. The cylinder fills with smoke and I try to suck it in. It's not working and then Mike pulls this pin thing and the cloud is in my throat.

Oh God, it's disgusting! Like a flaming turd. You know, when one of your asshole friends shits on the campfire and you don't realize it until after you've lit the log. Yeah, pun unfortunately intended.

I drink my Dr. Pepper. I can still taste it. This high better be worth it.

I feel nothing.

Maybe I didn't do it right.

Maybe weed sucks.

Ten minutes later, we're halfway through _Night of the Living Dead_ and I can't feel my face.

Can they tell?

Keep cool. Breathe. No one ever died from pot.

Right?

Shit.

Don't freak out. Be cool.

Can they tell I'm freaking out?

I wonder what my face looks like right now.

Oh, God, my face! I bring my hand to my cheek. It's still there.

I think.

Maybe I should ask Mike if my face is still there.

This makes me snort, and Mike's laughing at me.

"You're faded as fuck, huh?" he says and all I can do is nod. At least I know my head's still attached.

Just then the doorbell rings and my cell beeps and the zombie girl is stabbing her mom, all at the same time. It's Alice. She wants to know where I am. I'd text her back but the letters on my phone are so damn tiny.

Ben walks back into the room and he's trailed by three chicks.

Dammit. Chicks. And I can't find my face.

"Hey guys," Jessica says, but she's looking right at me. Leah, Jake's cousin, is behind her and Angela's glued to her side.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jake is quick to his feet and he's pointing right at Leah.

"I was invited, dickhead!" She shouts back. Her long, straight hair looks like this beaded curtain my mom used to have up in her bathroom. It moves like liquid. I want to touch it to see if it's real.

"Jesus, Mike." Jake plops back down on the sofa as Jessica sits next to me on the floor. She has stars in her eyes. Like, literally, I think they're twinkling.

"Hey," she says to me and takes off her coat.

"Drinkage?" Ben asks.

"Beer me," Jess responds and Angela looks confused.

"Me too," she bumbles and Ben smiles at her like she's the cutest damn thing he's ever seen. Ah, the culprit. He invited the girls. He's got a thing for Angela.

"Go help him," Jessica whispers to her and she's blushing. Luckily, she thinks I'm too stoned to understand English. She might be right.

"What if I freeze up?" she whispers back.

"You're fine. You're awesome. He wants you to help him." They both look over at Ben standing in the doorway. Sheepish motherfucker. He smiles at Angela and she smiles back.

"I'll help," she says and Ben guides her into the kitchen, his hand on her back. So fucking cute, I want to throw up. Instead I exhale and try to force back the bile of my lonely existence.

Leah parks herself on the sofa, far from her dickhead cousin. She's still glaring at him and I still want to touch her hair. Mike was right, she really is pretty. She's wearing these stretchy legging tights and a short skirt. With boots. And a turtleneck. She's completely covered from head to toe. And it's so fucking hot.

"Hey, Leah," I say and I'm kind of expecting her to tell me to fuck off but she doesn't. Instead, she slides off the couch and settles herself next to me.

"Hey," she says and then she grabs my head. Under normal circumstances, this would just be weird but in my heightened, paranoid state, I'm totally freaking out. "Wow, is that from the fall?"

"Uh, yeah," I say and move her hands off my head.

"Oh, sorry. I just wanted to see this head wound everyone's been talking about." She smiles and her teeth are very white.

"Can I touch your hair?" I ask and she laughs. Jessica gets up, knocking into my fucked up shoulder and then storms off into the kitchen. I'm pretty sure she did that on purpose.

By the time Angela and Ben find their way back to the living room, she's three sheets and he's got a box of Dixie cups and two bottles of hard liquor. Jessica's behind them and she took off her sweater. She's pulling out the big guns. I imagine trumpets saluting her monumental cleavage.

She smiles and hands me a beer. Coors. This is not going to end well.

"Let's play a game!" Leah's enthusiasm is killing my buzz. "_Fuck the Dealer_."

"No!" I shout and clench my eyes shut. I hate that fucking game. It's silent, except for the moaning of zombies and I force myself to open my eyes.

They're all staring at me so I chug my beer and they laugh. Ah, alcohol, thank you for your unique ability to make asinine behavior completely hilarious.

"How about,_ I've Never,_" Jess suggests and she resumes her spot next to me on the floor.

"Let's do this," Jake claps and I'm thinking I'm in the clear. I've never done a lot of stuff.

"I'll start," Mike says and Ben's pouring shots of tequila on the coffee table.

"Wait, we're doing this with tequila?" I say and they all laugh at me again.

"Don't worry, man. You can handle it," Mike says. He passes out the little paper cups. "I'll start. I've never dated two chicks at the same time."

"That's fucking shit," Jake says and he throws back the cup and chases it with a swig of beer. Everyone knows he hooked up with Tanya Denali and then her little sister Kate at the lake last Fourth of July. He wouldn't stop bragging about it.

"Fine," Jake says. "I've never had a sex dream about my best friend." And with a groan and averted eyes, everyone drinks. "Really? You've all had sex dreams about me?"

I try not to breathe as I bring the cup to my lips. It burns, like fire in my throat. I manage to keep it down, but now my lips are tingling.

"Not bad for a novice," Jake says and then hands me a beer. I swig and turn my head and there's Jessica, all up in my face. I grin and she licks her lips and slowly sips from her bottle, letting a bit drip onto her cleavage. She wipes at her chest with her hand, her eyes never leaving mine and I know I should, but I can't look away. Maybe it's because I haven't blown a decent load since my shoulder's been out of commission, but I swear to God, I'm getting hard.

This is distressing.

And a little exhilarating.

I could have sex with Jessica. And she'd be okay with it. If I wanted to.

She leans back against the couch, her t-shirt pulling up and exposing her hip. Christ. She's wearing a thong.

I kind of want to.

So I lean in close and she inhales. Before I can think myself out of this clusterfuck, she presses her lips to mine. She's warm and tastes like beer and tequila and weed and bubble gum lip stuff.

And she wants me.

It's nice to be wanted.

"I've never been on a roller coaster," she says as she settles into my side. I feel sick because dream Rosalie's in my head and it makes me think of real Rosalie. And how she's fucking Emmett.

"Me neither!" Angela says proudly but the rest of us have to drink. Again. This one doesn't go down as easily. I swallow, not without tremendous effort. I cannot do that again. I'm going to have to start lying.

"We should hit up Great America. You have to ride the American Eagle. I think they're running it backwards until Thanksgiving. Special promotion or some shit." Jake's lighting the bong again.

I take another hit and I'm high as fuck by the time Jessica's hands are down my pants. She's checking to see what color my underwear is. Apparently, there's some kind of wager.

"They're blue. You could have just asked," I say and grab her wrist. She squirms and laughs. She thinks I'm flirting. I think I might be.

"I'm not going to just take your word for it. I have money riding on this," she says as she stands up. "Refills?"

"Beer me," Mike says and Ben seconds. Angela's still nursing her first and Leah's braiding her hair in the corner.

"Edward?" Jess says and then nudges my leg with her foot. "Give me a hand?"

"What, you have to carry like two beers?" I complain and she looks pissed. I guess that wasn't the response she was hoping for.

She leaves and Mike hands me the bong.

"Dude, you hooking up with Jess?" he asks. Jesus, I thought I was being discrete.

"I'm not _not_ hooking up with her," I answer and he shakes his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he says and I frown.

"Why's that? Don't you think I deserve to be happy?"

"This isn't going to make you happy, Edward."

"Don't act like you know what would make me happy. You don't even know how to make yourself happy." He stares at me and I'm afraid I've gone too far but I don't care. I'm so sick of everyone telling me how to live my life. Like I can't figure it out for myself.

"You're acting like an asshole," Mike mutters and I just shrug.

"Maybe I am. Or maybe I've just been acting nice this whole time."

"Oh, what, you put this plot together in Kindergarten?" Sarcastic ass.

Jessica's back and my buzz is totally faded. Which pisses me off. She hands me a beer, even though I didn't ask for one but I'm grateful for the refill. I take the bottle and drink as fast as I can. Until I can't feel anymore.

Until I'm numb.

…

I'm on the stadium steps in my marching band uniform and I'm playing my trumpet. A large raindrop splatters on the brass instrument. Once, then twice. More and more, the rain pounds. It stings, like a thousand needles pricking my face.

I'm parched, dessicated. Like a corpse. I open my mouth and lift my face to the sky and it burns.

The clouds part and through the poison sky, I can see a bright shine of color. An arc soars, illuminating everything it touches and it crashes into me. Each wavelength streams into my soul and I'm pure light, inside and out. It's mine. I want to hide it. I want to keep it with me forever, so no one else can see how beautiful it is.

I know its presence is limited and I stretch and reach, and the spectrum dissolves into a dark horizon. There's nothing but static.

We must have left the television on.

I open my eyes, though every morsel of my being wants to stay in that dream where rain melts my face. I wish I could feel that rainbow forever. I haven't felt that good in a long, long time. Which is sad as all fuck.

My right arm is numb and the pressure is suffocating. My left shoulder throbs. My sling is missing. Along with my shirt. There's hair in my mouth. Blondish brown hair that tastes like weed.

Jessica's head is on my good arm and she's breathing on my neck. She's so fucking heavy and the heat of her breath is making me what to freak out. I'd rather rip my arm off than lay here another second.

Pain rips through my shoulder as I squirm out from underneath her. Please don't be naked, please don't be naked, please don't be naked!

She's not. She's wearing underwear, thank God. And my Dr. Pepper shirt. Damn. I love that shirt.

I'm tempted just to run home in my skivvy's but I know it's cold and that would not benefit the twins, so I find my pants and shoes and grab one of Mike's hoodies from his closet. I don't want to be here when Jessica wakes up. I just want to go home and pretend this whole thing didn't happen.

Not that I actually know what happened. I don't _want_ to know either. The last thing I remember, Angela was serving Mudslide from the coffee pot and Mike was up to his elbows in peanut butter pot cookies.

I hold my left arm close to my body because it hurts like hell. I've been doing these stretches and mobility exercises but without the sling, it's still pretty tender. The streets are silent and my breath fogs around my face as the chill stings my face. I walk away as fast as I can.

It's a dick move, I know. But it's how we all deal with dangerous situations. Fight or flight, right? I've rejected Jessica at least eight times over the last four years. She's just so damn persistent. Now, maybe she'll hate my guts enough to leave me alone.

I open the front door to my house, cautious to what I might find inside. It could be seriously damaging but then again, I'm already pretty fucked so I go ahead and proceed. I just need to get to my room.

I creep through the living room toward the kitchen and almost trip over my mother. She's passed out on the floor. On the fucking kitchen floor. Oh, so that's where I get it from. Shame must be genetic.

I grab a pillow from the living room and shove it under her head. She doesn't even flinch. There's a few of our neighbors on the couch and a couple curled up on the floor. It's good to know I'll never really have to grow up.

Finally, I get to my room and crash on the bed. But I smell like ass and I feel like dirty bath water. Luke warm and gray. So I get in the shower with the hope of rinsing clean the stench. When I get back to my room, Alice is perched on my bed.

"Did you see Mom?" she asks.

"Yeah, I threw her a pillow," I say and she smirks.

"Dad just left her on the floor," she says.

"I know." I hold out a shirt and she helps me pull it over my head.

"Where's your sling?" she asks.

"I forgot it at Mike's," I mumble.

"You forgot it? How do you forget something like that?" she asks. This whole conversation is a mistake. Alice is like airport security, nothing gets by her without an unnecessary probe. Diversion is usually the best course of action.

"Did you stay at Jasper's?" I ask and she nods. "So you're back together?"

"You do know we never broke up, right?" she asks and I knew she'd take the bait.

"Sure, all for the sake of your career, right?" I say and now her eyes are squinty. This means she's pissed. She puts her hands on her hips, her melon gut bulging like some kind of guilt inducing reminder. I swear she stands like that on purpose.

"Edward, I don't care what you think. I don't care what you say or anyone else in this piece of shit town. This show, this _career_, is going to give my child the future it deserves. And that's all that really matters."

She storms out of my room and I feel like I'm two feet tall. I'm beat though, so I crash until my mom knocks on my door.

"Edward, Jessica's here. She wants to talk to you." Shit. Double shit.

"I'll be right down."

She's sitting in the living room in the same clothes she wore last night and my Dr. Pepper shirt is folded in her lap. She looks wrecked, black smeared under her puffy eyes, her bottom lip pink from chewing. This is going to be horrible.

"Hey," I say, trying to be nonchalant and she just scoffs. Incredulous, disbelieving gasps of irritation. Yeah, she hates my guts.

"You left your shirt," she stands and tosses it onto the coffee table. She turns like she's going to leave and I can't believe she's going let me off so easy but then she spins. I can tell she's going to yell so I usher her out the front door and try to intercept her big speech about how I'm a complete asshole.

"Look, Jess. I had fun last night. But it was a mistake. I'm going through some shit right now and I really just need you to be my friend, you know?" She looks like she wants to punch me.

"You're going through some shit? You? Oh my God, you are so incredibly clueless! How can you stand there and say that shit to me, knowing how I feel about you? Knowing that I've been in love with you since fucking middle school? Knowing that this means way more to me than just some drunken one night stand?" She stops, like the words are caught in her throat. "How can you do this to me?"

"Shit. Did we…did we have sex?" I ask and that does it. She smacks me, right across the face.

"I hate you. Don't ever speak to me again." She takes off down the street. Probably back to Mike's.

Alice steps out the door just as I'm walking back up to the house. "Rosalie Hale's on the phone for you."

"What? The house phone?" I ask.

"No, your cell. You left it in the kitchen." She holds it out to me and I snatch it from her.

"You answered my cell? Why would you do that?" I bark, my palm pressed against the receiver.

"Why did Jessica hit you?" Alice asks and I quickly put the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I say.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, hey." There's a long pause.

"Why are you calling me?" I ask, confused and she exhales.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. I didn't see you at Tyler's party last night."

"That's because I wasn't invited."

"Oh. Okay. Well, did you have a nice weekend?"

"I guess," I respond and I can see Mike walking up my street. Now him? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit today?

"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yep. Later." I hang up just as Mike marches onto my lawn and he looks like he's ready for a fight. Really? Over Jessica?

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asks and I just roll my eyes and pace the porch.

"I wasn't thinking. I was drunk and high. I don't even think we slept together. You'd think I'd remember something like that."

"You know, you _would _think. Why fuck with her? You know how she is," Mike says and this is really kind of irritating.

"Exactly. You _know_ how she is. Why are you being such a dick about this?"

"Me? You're the dick. It's like you've been riding around on your pathetically bitter high horse and we're all getting kind of sick of it."

"We? Did you guys form a committee?" I scoff.

Mike sighs, messes with his hair, then scratches his chin. I kick the ground and shove my hand in my pocket.

"You know she hates you now, right?" he asks and I nod.

"Yep," I mutter.

He nods. "Kind of sucks, dude."

"A lot of things kind of suck right now." I rub at the scar on my head. It's pretty much healed up now, but the new skin is a little itchy.

"You okay?" he asks and my phone buzzes in my pocket. Rosalie.

_Want to meet for pancakes? Red Hill? _

"You know, I think I'm going to be just fine."

…

**A/N:**

Happy New Year, you sexy babes, you!

**Boo** prereads and **LSD** betas. They're the cat's meow.

Thank you for reading.


	7. Ain't Nuthin' but a Gangsta Party

CH 7 – Ain't Nuthin' but a Gangsta Party

…

"It smells like feet in here," Rose says as she climbs the steel ladder. The toe of her pointy boot misses the step and she lets out a quiet curse. My hand grips her waist and I steady her against the wall.

"You okay?" I ask and she nods, soft curls swaying over my fingers. I wrap her hair around my finger, because I can and she smiles. Shy, sly. I can never tell.

Her curled up lips are close to mine and they're devious. She places a calculating kiss, applying just the right amount of suction to remind me of what her lips are capable of.

Yeah, she's been sucking my dick.

And I've gotten her off at least twice. Maybe three times. It's hard to tell. She's a screamer.

"_You_ okay?" She runs her hand over my shoulder. I've been ditching the sling more and more, trying to get some mobility back. It's been five weeks since my fall, but the doctor said I wouldn't completely heal for months. Maybe even a year.

But I can move it now. I could cut back on the painkillers. I haven't, but I could, I guess. It's actually starting to freak me out. I have zero refills on my script. I'm going to have to find a way to get those pills when I run out. You know, just in case the pain comes back.

"I'll make it all better," Rose says in this disgusting, sweet voice. I think it's supposed to be sexy, but it sounds like saccharin. She's probably going to give me cancer.

She twists her hips and continues to climb the metal ladder to the auditorium loft. I found this place about two years ago. Mike and I were supposed to be cleaning out the orchestra pit after the drama club's production of _The King and I_. He bet me his original edition X-Men graphic novel I wouldn't have the balls to climb the catwalk. I started climbing the ladder and found this loft where they've been storing theater crap for years. It's a little musty, but throw down a clean sheet and it's quite the elusive hide-a-way for a middle-of-the-school-day romp. Which I didn't know existed until now.

Rose straddles the wall and drops into the loft. She pulls the sheet out of her backpack as I finish the climb. The sheet floats to the ground and she crawls into the center. She's on her knees, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Strands of honey hair fall across her flushed cheeks, and I'm still shocked as hell that this is real. How the fuck did this happen?

After the fiasco with Jessica, word kind of spread around school that we had fucked. Which I still believe is hearsay. There are only two witnesses to the truth, and I was completely out of commission. Jessica wasn't exactly a portrait of sobriety either. It's possible we fooled around or something, but I honestly don't believe I could fuck Jessica. Like I think it's physically impossible. She's like my sister, for Christ's sake. I'm sure my dick would go limp in protest.

Anyway, long story short, I'm the dude who fucked Jessica. Then treated her like shit. _Then_ denied it ever really happened. You'd think someone would give me hell for being such a dickhead, right?

But I'm not _a_ dickhead. I'm _the_ dickhead. _Their_ dickhead. And they love me for it.

Chicks now see me as some sort of challenge. I'm damaged, and through the sheer sense of nurturing that is innate in the female of our species, they want to fix me. They want to save me, make me whole again. It's fucking psychotic.

Guess who else had an interest in fixing this psychologically damaged asshole. You guessed it: Rosalie Hale. I think she sees me as some kind of case study for her future research on the mental instability of head trauma patients, but still. She's calling me. She's the one stopping at my house to bring me freshly baked peanut butter cookies. She's the one waiting by my car after school. She's the one who blew me in the movie theater on our first date. She's made all the advances. I simply let them keep coming. Pun definitely intended.

I sit on the sheet next to her and she straddles my lap. She insists on being on top. Always. Says she feels claustrophobic when she's pinned beneath me. I think it's some kind of control issue but whatever. She grinds against my dick and I get to motorboat the fuck out of her tits so it all works out.

Except, she doesn't really have tits. It's all bra, I shit you not. She's really self conscious about it too. She won't take her shirt off unless it's pitch black.

"Baby, grab my ass," she whispers, her mouth breathing all over my earlobe. Her tight jeans rub against mine and I'm kind of afraid the friction's going to catch fire some day. I clutch her buttcheeks with both hands and she moans into my ear.

"Oh yeah, spread me open," she says and I try my damnedest not to roll my eyes. Rose is really into graphic dirty talk. I'd be a bit more forgiving if we were actually having sex. She's still playing the virgin card. She doesn't know that I know the truth.

She kisses me again and my dick throbs. Rosalie's a great kisser. She knows all the right places to suck, when to apply pressure, and when to back off so that I'm left desperate for more. I wish she'd apply her kissing principles to her dirty talk. Rose never shuts up. Like she's afraid of silence or something.

She swivels her hips and my hands clutch her waist. Her tongue is in my mouth and I slowly slide my hands under her shirt. My fingers graze the smooth, soft skin of her waist and she's panting into my mouth. I slip my fingers under the wire of her bra and push the material out of the way. Her head rolls back, she licks her lips and my thumb climbs the peak.

"Oh God, suck it, baby. Put it in your mouth," Rose pants and I'm not about to argue. She goes crazy when I suck on her tits.

I lick and twist and pull and she grabs my head presses it against her chest. The underwire from her bra is poking me in the nose and I can hardly breathe. She jerks my head away and then her lips are on mine. That magnificent mouth of hers sends me into a frenzy. I flick free the button on her jeans and slide my hand into her undies. She grinds faster, slick against my fingers and I don't even need to do anything more. She rides my hand, my knuckle pressed against her clit and then she's coming. She screeches and moans, _yes, yes, yes_ and I feel like I'm watching bad porn. I usually mute this part.

"God damn, baby." Her eyes are closed and she's limp on my lap. I pull my hand out of her pants, trying to subtly wipe my fingers on her underwear. She buttons up and then kisses my forehead. I'm still sitting there, my dick hard enough to cut diamonds.

"You gonna take care of this, or what?" I ask and she narrows her eyes.

"Wow, real romantic," she says as she stands, her hands on her hips.

"I'm just assessing the situation. If you don't take care of it, I'll have to." I say and she thinks I'm teasing. She rolls her eyes and kneels beside me. Her hands on my crotch and she rubs along the length.

"Oh, poor baby. You want me to take care of this, don't you?" she asks and I run my fingers through her hair. I unbuckle my belt and her hands are already fast at work on my zipper. "Look at what I did to you, you poor thing."

God, I wish she'd get on with it and just shut the fuck up. That's the best thing about Rose's blow jobs; she can't speak with my dick in her mouth.

She's pretty decent at it. Except she won't let me come in her mouth. I mean, she'll let me and she pretends to swallow but she really just spits it out all over my lap. She thinks I can't tell the difference. It's so fucking condescending.

Spit and my spunk is all over my lap now so I take the sheet and wipe off my junk. Rose scoffs; she thinks it's gross. If she'd fucking man up and swallow already, it would cut down tremendously on clean-up. It would also open up a variety of location possibilities.

"How was that, baby?" She's smug and it's irritating. Like she's got me under her thumb.

"It got the job done," I knock and she looks pissed.

"God, you're such a prick sometimes." She adjusts her shirt, fixes her bra.

"What do you mean sometimes? I'm a prick all the time, remember?" I tease and she's not amused. "What do you want me to say? I'm cleaning spunk off my balls."

"You don't have to be so graphic," she mutters and I laugh again. She's insane. I think she might hate me.

Rosalie folds up the sheet and is digging through her backpack. She opens a small vial and shakes out some pills, pressing them to her tongue and swallowing without water. She checks her makeup in her compact and then runs her fingers through her hair.

"You got a headache or something?" I ask her.

"Allergies." She dabs at the corner of her eyes with her fingers. Drops in some saline solution. Her violet eyes aren't even hers. They're colored contacts.

I don't even know what color her eyes really are.

I don't know if I care.

…

"There she is, completely naked from the waist down when my dad fucking barges through the door. He skipped out on the third game and came home early. Because he was tired. Anyway, she starts freaking, but luckily, I had pulled out a quilt for this very occasion. See that? Preparation; that's what separates the men from the punk-ass bitches, you know?"

A bit of pancake falls out of the side of Jake's mouth as he speaks. I chuckle and take a bite of my bacon. Nice and crispy. I scarf my fake eggs and dip my bacon in the maple syrup from my pancakes.

"I just kept on fingering her, dude. Right in front of my dad. And get this, she liked it. Totally got her off," Jake acts like this is an accomplishment but everyone knows Lauren's all into that kinky shit. I heard she got tagged teamed by the Romanian brothers after the football game last weekend. And she made out with some chick from Kennedy.

"In front of your dad? Didn't that give you limp dick?" Mike asks and Jake just shrugs.

"Under normal circumstances, yeah, it would have been a little deflating. But she was really into it. Carrying on some polite fucking conversation about the SuperMart hiring or some shit. And all the while, creaming all over my hand. It was impressive."

"Can I get you anything else?" our waitress, Mary, asks. Her face is utterly contemptuous. If she hadn't molested our food before, I'm pretty sure she'll be fucking with it from now until eternity.

"I think we've had enough," I say with a sly grin and she tries to smile back. I know, it's hard, bless her heart. She literally can't stand the sight of us right now.

"You see that," I say as she stalks away. "Did you see how indignant she was? Like we were talking about her specifically. That's how chicks are, man. You spurn one, you've spurned them all, like they're psychically linked or some shit. Like on that fucking blue alien movie, what was that called? Where they could connect with their hair tentacle things?"

"_Pocahontas: To Infinity and Beyond_?" Mike says and I laugh.

"Yeah, that's the one." I suck down the rest of my Mr. Pibb. Denny's doesn't have Dr. Pepper. They pretend the two are synonymous, but I assure you, the differences are vast and notable.

"So-" Jake pauses so he can take an exaggerated sip of his lukewarm coffee. "What's up with the Hale chick?"

"Rosalie?" I ask, confused because I didn't think anything was up with her. "What about her?"

"Well, are you _with_ her now or what? You've had like forty study dates in the last week. You fucking yet?" Jake winks and it gives me the creeps, like fingering-a-girl-in-front-of-your-dad creepy.

"I don't know, man. We're not like exclusive or whatever. We're just having fun."

"That's not what she told Lauren." Jake's practically giggling.

"She told Lauren about me?" I ask.

"What's the big deal? You've been in love with her for years. And it's not like it can ruin your street cred," Mike says and I kind of want to punch him. Like I give a fuck about my reputation. My reputation is that I don't have a reputation.

"I'm just surprised. I didn't think it was going to be one of these serious, long term things. We're just fooling around."

"Hey, that's just the rumor," Jake throws his hands up, like he had no part in these shenanigans and for some reason, doubt weighs heavy in my head.

"Shit!" Mike shouts and I almost choke on my home style potatoes. "I had a test today in physics. Thompson's not going to let me make up another test."

"Just tell him you had a dentist appointment," Jake offers.

"No way, he always knows we're here. He has insider information, I think. Our waitress might be the double agent."

"So? It's not like anything we do now could really mess shit up, you know?" I say and hold up my glass for a refill.

"Yeah, Senior year's pretty much a formality," Jake says and I shrug in agreement.

"I guess you're right." Mike relaxes into his seat. "It's not like I'm university bound anyway. Community college doesn't exactly need a stellar GPA."

"What? What about NYU?" I ask and Mike avoids eye contact.

"Like I'd really get in. Besides, my ma kind of needs me at home."

"Your ma needs you?" I raise my eyebrows. "You mean you don't want to leave your mommy?"

"Don't be a dick, dude," Mike scowls and I laugh.

"So what, you're going to go to Oakton during the day and smoke weed with your mom at night?"

"It's not like you have tons of future plans. What are you going to do next year, play Xbox in your basement until your ass calluses over and fester in a pool of your own self-entitlement?"

Yeah, I'm not laughing now.

"Because that's so much worse than working at the fucking Target for the rest of your life." I sound like a third grader and I just can't stop myself. "It's not like you're going to find any other queers here, so you may as well get out."

He's silent. The look of utter detest upon his face is making my stomach turn and my heart pounds in my chest.

_I take it back. I take it back. I take it back._

But I don't. Instead, I prepare to defend myself.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he says but I can't back down. Not now. Besides, he kind of needs to hear this. Might as well come from me. His best friend.

"You know, I might respect you more if you just came out already. Do you really think you're fooling anyone?"

"What, Edward? What are you trying to say?" Mike's yelling now. He's gone from devastated to fighting pissed in about two seconds. Jake's frozen, watching this whole debacle go down like a gory WWII movie.

"You're gay, Mike!" I shout. This couple in the booth next to us turn around. It's Dr. Flowers, my dentist and his assistant, Flo. She's being cleaning my teeth since I was a kid. Mike's too. And now she knows he's gay.

"Yeah, well, you've just got everything all figured out, don't you?" He says and then stands. He throws some cash on the table and then points at my face. "I'm done with you."

He stalks out, face to the floor. Hands in his pockets.

"Dude," Jake shakes his head. "That was fucked up shit."

"What? It's the truth. It's not like I care he's gay. But fuck, man, claim it! I'm just tired of everyone in this town pretending to be people they're not." I push my plate away. Toss my napkin. "You're not the only one around who can tell it like it is."

"Is that what's going on here? You jocking my style?"

"No, Fergie, I'm not jocking your style. I don't know. Ever since I spent the night under Rosalie's tree, I've been looking at things through new eyes. I was there a long time. And things were different when I woke up."

"Yeah, but were you pretending before? Or are you pretending now? Either way, you're a pretender." He shrugs, like he just said the most profound thing known to mankind and I can't stop that song from spinning through my head.

_Gonna make you, make you, make you notice._

…

Goddamn Pretenders. That song runs through my head the whole fucking week. I haven't heard that song in like ten years, not since my mom's old tape player shit out.

My mom used to be a punker back in the day. She has all these records and tapes; archaic shit, you know? The Sex Pistols, Social Distortion, Bad Religion. I have no clue how she found herself dating my dad. Captain of the football team, student body president, most likely to succeed. Now she's a real estate agent and instead of pink hair, she has pink suits.

She's in the kitchen making risotto to go with her pot roast. Her apron's tied around her waist as she squishes stewed tomatoes between her manicured fingers. I'm at the table, trying to finish all the Sudoku puzzles in the newspaper before my dad gets home from work.

"Edward, honey, do you think you could set the table for me?" She asks and I sigh in disbelief. Can't she see I'm busy?

"One sec," I mumble and she glances up.

"Are you doing Daddy's puzzles?" she asks frantically. I finish up the two's and then the final five and toss the paper on the table.

"Nope," I smile and she looks horrified.

"You know how much he looks forward to those puzzles," she scolds. She lifts the lid to stir the rice and a big pouf of steam floats around her face.

"Yeah, well, he's kind of a douche," I snip.

The lid clatters to the stove. She catches her breath. I can tell she wants to freak out, but my father told her not to give any attention to my negative behavior. Which means I can do whatever the fuck I want without parental consequence. They're letting me turn the basement into a gaming room because I didn't get kicked out of Willis's class this week. Win, win, win.

"Can you please set the table?" she says calmly.

"Sure!" I answer enthusiastically. I pull three plates from the cabinet.

"Three?" she asks and I nod.

"I'm going out," I say as I place the plates in their places.

"Out? Out where?" My mom asks, perplexed.

"I don't know, _out_. As in not here." Fork, fork, fork.

"It's a school night," she says. I grab three glasses from the cabinet next to the stove. Her rice is boiling over.

"You might want to check your rice," I say and she's distracted.

Just then, Alice walks through the front door. Her play opens this weekend and she's had dress rehearsals all week. She looks like shit, her extremities like sausage links twisted at her knees and elbows. As always, her camera crew is with her.

"It was really hard before, but now that I'm in the third trimester, it just makes everything ten times harder. I'm so tired," she complains as she walks into the kitchen. I wonder if she'll ever go back to being normal or if she'll just spend the rest of her life narrating her every move to nobody in particular.

"Careful Alice, your martyr's showing," I say and she narrows her eyes. But only for an instant. Then she's back to playing the victim.

She sighs, looks at the camera as if to say, "_See what I have to deal with? Don't you feel bad for me? Aren't I such a big girl for handling this all on my own?"_

See? Fake ass bitches. They're everywhere.

I throw on my coat, the warm one with the wool lining and get in my piece of shit car. It's windy and there's ice on my windshield, and it takes me forever just to drive down the street. Like seriously, I could have walked faster.

I text Rosalie to let her know I'm waiting outside. We're supposed to go to a movie or something. Which means I'll be getting head. But instead of her ass in my car, I get a text in return.

_Come in for a second._

What?

_Why? I don't want to._

_My dad wants to meet you._

_Now I really don't want to._

_Just come in already! This is embarrassing._

_Why? Is he reading your texts? Should I say something dirty? Like how his little girl is going to suck my cock tonight?_

And then silence. For like a whole five minutes. Shit. What if he _was_ reading her texts?

_Just come in. _

Now I'd rather freeze to death in my car than actually enter that house. I'm trying to decide if I should just leave when I'm startled by three quick raps on my window.

Big poofy rainbow hair, shoved under a bright orange beanie.

"Hey," Bella shouts and then knocks on the window again. Damn, these Hales are persistent.

I give her a wave and then roll down my window.

"You coming in?" she asks and her cheeks and nose are bright pink. She's sweaty, out of breath and her fleece jacket's zipped up to her chin.

"You being chased or something?" I ask with a grin and she's unfazed.

"Training," she says and then opens my door. Apparently, I'm going in.

"Training for what?" I ask as I get out of my car.

"You should roll up your window," she says and I roll my eyes and shut the door. I don't plan on being here long.

"What are you training for, zombie apocalypse?" I ask again. Not even a smile. What the hell?

"I have a race this weekend. I run cross country." She walks up the drive and sure enough, she's in running attire. Sneakers and everything.

"For like a team?" I ask confused. Bella doesn't exactly look like a runner. Unless it's from the cops.

"Yeah, for our school's team."

I had no idea our school had a cross country running team. I guess because the marching band is never at their meets. Or races. Whatever they're called.

Bella opens the front door and stomps her muddy sneakers on the mat. She kicks them off and leaves them by the door. She strips her jacket and pulls off her beanie and I linger on the doorstep. Awkward squared.

Rosalie peeks her head into the entry way and glares. Her eyes are irritated and she grabs my hand to pull me inside. I barely have a chance to wipe my feet.

"Daddy! Edward's here," Rosalie shouts and I shudder. Daddy? God, I hate that word. Bella gives me a quick smile and then she disappears upstairs. I wonder what her room looks like.

Mr. Hale is exactly how I remember him. Handlebar mustache. A little thick around the middle. Pepper gray hair that's parted on the side and gelled into place. He's wearing a thick sweater and a pair of slacks. All he needs is a white shirt and he could be Colonel Sanders. In fact, I think Mike and I used to call him the Colonel. I'll have to tell Mike about this.

And then I remember, Mike's not speaking to me and I'm irritated all over again.

"Edward Masen, right?" Mr. Hale extends a hand and I grip his fat fingers. "I went to school with your father."

Of course he did.

"Oh, yeah. Probably my mom too, then," I respond and I immediately regret it because now he thinks I want to have a conversation about his glory days.

"Right, right. Elizabeth?"

"No, Esme," I respond and he looks perplexed. It could be an honest mistake. The names are similar, I guess.

"Huh," he grunts and scratches his head. "Esme Platt?"

"Yeah," I say and Rosalie looks like she might die of happiness. I can almost hear her clapping in her head.

"I thought she was with that band geek. God, what was his name? Carl or something? Anyway, that's history, old news." My face burns but Mr. Hale chuckles and then wraps his arm around his daughter.

"So where are you taking my Rosie tonight?"

I thought we'd start out with some light fingering, but then gradually increase to some oral action.

"Movie, sir," I say and Rose smooths her skirt.

"Well, it is a school night. Don't be out too late. Rosie has a 4.6 GPA to uphold. She's going to Columbia next year, did she tell you?" Rose looks at her shoes.

"Uh, no. She didn't mention it," I shake my head and Mr. Hale chuckles. He's absolutely delighted I'm clueless.

"How could they pass up such perfection? Rose is the real deal, the total package. I don't know how she finds the time or energy. I wish I had half her motivation. I'd be one wealthy man." Mr. Hale lets out a booming laugh. The joke of course, being that he _is_ wealthy. The lameness is staggering.

Finally, we're out the door, twenty minutes late. I buy our tickets and Rose gets popcorn before we find our seats. I'm pleased to see that pleated skirt and it seems Rosalie's choice was not without discretion.

"I don't really want to get caught fucking in a theater, but you can finger me a little," she whispers into my ear as the previews start to roll.

"I'll take,_ Things the Preacher's Daughter_ _Says_ for 1000, Alex," I whisper back. And then the show starts.

…

**A/N:**

Did it hurt? Is anyone in severe pain or in need of immediate medical attention? I know, I know, but it's just how it has to be right now. It gets better, Dan Savage said so.

I'm writing a blog about depression. I'm ready for this depression shit to be over and I'm chronicling my process. If you're interested, follow me on twitter, I'll be tweeting updates.

**Boo** prereads and makes me feel spectacular. **LightStarDusting** is my life coach and beta. She's kind of like my Coach Taylor.


	8. Hit 'Em Up

CH 8 – Hit 'Em Up

…

"So you guys are just hooking up or what?" Twisted paper sticks to my lip as I inhale deeply. There's a crackle and a hiss and a plume in my throat. Weed is still disgusting. I thought maybe I'd get used to it, like Listerine or something, but it never gets any better. Jacob claims this is a new strain, supposed to taste like chocolate. I can never tell the difference. It all tastes like shit.

"I don't know, man. It's weird. She won't go out with me."

"What do you mean?" I ask and Jacob's pinching the roach between his massive fingertips, trying to get that last toke.

"I've asked Bella out six times. She's always got something going on. Track, homework, art class, work, family game night-"

"Wait, she has a job?" I ask and Jacob just shrugs.

"I don't know! She speaks in fucking metaphors, analogies and shit. I never know what the hell she's really talking about." He snuffs out the roach and pops it into his mouth. His wide lips stretch like a crocodile welcoming in little fishies.

"You're disgusting." I shake my head which fuels his pride. Jacob loves when he's the most at something, even if it's the most disgusting.

What's more perplexing is this Bella character. Not that it matters, really. She just makes me…curious. Like one of those block puzzles that looks really complicated, but once you know how to put it together, it's so simple. I can't figure out how to put her together and it bugs the shit out of me.

She's hooking up with Jacob but won't date him. Needless to say, this makes her about a billion times more attractive to Jacob. He loves a challenge and he hates that this chick is getting the best of him. This also makes her about a billion times more awesome. It's nice to see him get a swig of his own Kool-Aid, for a change.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's Rosalie. She calls me at four-fifteen every single day on her way home from tutoring. On days she's not volunteering, I pick her up and we find some place to fool around. School, the park, my car, Barnes and Noble. Mainly because they're open until eleven.

It's not like I can bring her here, with the camera crew and shit. Plus, I'm terrified of her talking to my parents. Mutually terrified. I don't want them to know the other exists. I don't want to explain to my parents that Rosalie isn't a girlfriend but just a chick I'm getting off with. I don't want to have to explain my parents to Rosalie. It's just too complicated and I'm fighting like hell to keep this simple.

"I gotta go," I say.

"I thought you weren't _with_ her." Jacob smirks, a disgusting grin on his face and I shrug.

"I'm not with her always. Just sometimes." I laugh and Jake lets loose a booming chuckle, like a canon. Before he can say anything else, I put on my coat and walk out the door.

I drive carefully to Rosalie's, my head cloudy from the mid-afternoon high. I park in the driveway and notice it's empty. No parental supervision. Sweet.

I don't bother texting her and walk up to the door. I knock and she answers, her hair swept up in a bun and a pair of tortoise shell glasses settled on her nose. She's wearing the blue sweater again and a jean skirt with wool socks pulled up to her thigh. Goddamn, she has to know what this kind of shit does to me.

"Hey baby," she says and grabs my hand. She smells like vanilla and pencil shavings. "I made you cookies."

"That's awesome because I need a snack." I grin and try to kiss her but she pulls away.

"You smell like marijuana," she frowns and I close one eye.

"I was at Jacob's."

"Are you high? On a school day?" she asks and I shrug.

"I'm not _not_ high," I laugh and she rolls her eyes. "What? Jacob had a joint and we shared it. Not a big deal."

"And then you drove here? You could have killed someone!" Rosalie stalks off to the kitchen and I stand in her dark hall. I sigh, tempted to just leave, but the smell of snickerdoodles wafting through the air is far too persuasive.

Before I can make my way to the kitchen, she's marching back into the hall. She looks irritated, probably because I didn't follow her.

"I'm just worried about your safety," she says and I prepare for a verbal lashing. Instead, she hands me a cookie. It's still warm and I sink my teeth into the sugary circle. It's soft and chewy, like a good snickerdoodle should be. She watches me eat, practically salivating at my response. It's giving me the creeps. I wonder if she thought we were going to share.

"You want a bite?" I offer, and she shakes her head no. She grabs my hand and marches me up the stairs. To her bedroom.

We pass an open door and I glance inside. The room is a disaster, album art plaster the walls, clothes and books litter the floor, a pair of muddy running shoes kicked off by the bed. There's a guitar and an art easel, a massive book shelf and a humming computer.

"Not that one," she says and we move to the second door.

I should have known. Rosalie's room is spotless. Her bed is covered in a white frilly comforter and about a hundred pillows. She has an old desk, probably antique, but it looks like it's been refinished. Her dresser matches the desk and lined up along the wood, there's half a dozen pewter butterflies with iridescent stained glass wings. She nudges one back into line, it's slightly crooked positioning disturbing the orderliness of the room. I don't know where to sit. Maybe I should have removed my shoes before stepping onto her carpet. Carpet with perfectly vacuum formed diamonds.

"So, Emmett is having a party this weekend and we should totally go," she says as she sits on her bed. Why would she think I'd go to Emmett's party? The thought is disturbing. Doesn't she know me at all? We don't really talk much, actually. There's a lot I don't know about her. I can't figure out if I like that or not.

"I know you and Emmett had that argument a while ago, but I think it would be really mature of you to show him that there's no hard feelings," she continues. She has no idea how hard my feelings are. "Besides, it's kind of a celebration for the decathletes. You know, because of our victory over Kennedy last weekend."

No, I did not know about said victory. I didn't even know she had a match. Or a meet. I don't know what the hell it's called.

"Whatever," I say and she grins. Whatever means okay in girl speak. I sit on her bed and she's playing with the lace of one of her pillows. The silence is stifling. So I clear my throat. She kicks off her shoes. I smile at her. She smiles back. It's fucking awkward.

Instead of trying to find something for us to discuss, I slide my hand up her skirt and we spend the next twenty minutes dry humping on her bed. She's on her back and I'm eating her out. She made me put a towel down first so we wouldn't ruin her bedspread. She keeps moving her hips and pulling at my hair and then I hear an exasperated sigh. Like she's annoyed or something.

"What's wrong?" I look up at her from between her legs and she's scowling at me.

"I have an idea," she says and then she's rolling over and pulling some fake dick out of her nightstand. "Here, use this."

She turns it on and this thing is swirling and buzzing, and I'm not really sure what she wants me to use it for. So I just start poking at her with it, rubbing it around her business and she starts really getting into it. She moans and calls me baby. Then she starts saying some crazy shit.

"Yeah, baby, fuck me with that dick." I don't know, maybe it would be hotter if I were actually fucking her with my dick. Instead, I'm using some reanimated hunk of gelatin plastic.

I move the thing around some more and she's swiveling her hips and then her hand folds over mine. She pushes my hand out of the way and she takes over. She's rubbing her clit and fucking herself with that fake penis and I'm not really sure what to do anymore.

So I'm sitting there on her bed while she's getting herself off and the whole time my dick is hard as a rock and pushing against the zipper of my pants. I figure if she's going to self service, I might as well whip it out and get a good rub on. I mean, I'd be a fool to pass up this live entertainment. It's like free porn.

My belts unlatched in a second, my pants quickly around my ankles and I start rubbing one out. I leave on my boxers because if I blow a load, it will be easier to clean up. She sees what I'm doing now and it must turn her on or something because the next thing I know, she's screaming and jerking around on the bed. This must be what her real orgasm looks like.

Seconds later, the show's over. She smiles at me and adjusts her skirt and with a kiss on the cheek she's in the bathroom cleaning up. I'm not about to spend the entire evening with a hard on, so I proceed as planned. But all my old "go-to" fantasies aren't working anymore. They all involve Rosalie, but the Rosalie that I didn't know. The Rosalie that didn't want me, that I couldn't have. And I realize, with a disturbing amount of panic and anxiety, that Rosalie doesn't really exist anymore.

I might never get off again!

I pack it up when I hear the shower in the bathroom running. I roll my eyes because with all her meticulous pretenses, Rosalie still doesn't know that I saw her fucking Emmett McCarty against the side of her house so many weeks ago.

…

"Look at him. He's fucking blown the closet wide open," Jake says. Mike sees us staring and gives a wave, twiddling his fingers and laughing with his new besties.

Apparently, Mike took our little argument as a personal challenge and has be fagging it up all over the place. He came out to his mom, but she wasn't really surprised. He's wearing skinny jeans and Converse and a t-shirt that I can see his nipples through. And now he hangs with the drama club. He auditioned for the school play and told everyone we're not friends anymore because I'm obsessed with him. I don't really care. I just want my friend back. He doesn't even look like he misses me at all.

"I'm just glad he's finally being honest. I'm glad I could help." Yeah, I'm taking full credit for Mike's happiness. If it hadn't been for me, he'd still be miserably pretending to be straight. I just wish he'd see it that way.

"Want to go bowling tonight?" Jake asks as he pops a tater tot into his mouth. "Bella wants to go bowling."

He rolls his eyes and despite his attitude, bowling does sound like fun. My mom used to be on a league back in the day. She was really good, too. Taught me everything she knows.

But I can't tonight. Tonight is princess preggo's opening of her play. There's no possible way I can get out of going. Not unless I plan on living the rest of my life without a head.

"Alice's play," I say and he nods.

"That's right! I'll tell Bella I have to go to her play. You're a lifesaver, man!" He claps my back just as I'm about to drink my Dr. Pepper.

"Do you want me to get you a ticket?" I ask and Jake looks at me like I'm insane.

"Dude, I'm not really going to the play. I'm just telling Bella I am." He grins and I don't blame him. I wouldn't be going if it were up to me either.

After school, however, he's in a panic.

"Fucking told Bella about that play. And now she wants to go."

"What did you say?" I ask him as we walk to my car.

"Well, I couldn't say no! Then she'd know I was lying. Can you get me two tickets? Is Rosalie going? Maybe we can ride together or something?" Shit, I hadn't planned on inviting Rosalie. My goal in life is to never have her in the same room with my parents.

"I'll work on it," I mumble.

"Thanks, man. If I get laid for this, I'll owe you big." Jake checks his hair in the window while I unlock the door and I almost want to laugh. There's no way in hell Bella's falling for this shit.

When I get home, both my parents are already there. Alice is wearing this long black dress with her hair all spiked up. She looks tortured, like a good artist should. She's pacing the kitchen, trying to make a sandwich and she's talking a mile a minute.

"I had to drive all the way into the city today so I could find this special light filter for the opening silhouette." Jasper takes the knife from her hand and I'm pretty sure she meant Jasper had to drive into the city. Seeing as how she doesn't have a vehicle any longer.

"It's cool, Mom. My teachers signed me out of class today so we could have rehearsal all day." Alice takes a huge bite of her turkey and pepperoncini sandwich. She's going to have heartburn later.

"Well, as long as you keep your grades up," my mom says and Alice nods. Alice doesn't give a shit about her grades. She's a C student, barely scrapes by. She said in the long run, her academic record really isn't going to help her career. She focuses on the important things, like avoiding stretch marks and method acting.

"We got everything squared away, though. Didn't we, babe?" Alice kisses Jasper's cheek and my mom closes her eyes.

"How was your day, honey?" My mom asks and it's quiet. Which makes sense. I'm not sure what else Alice could fit into her daily description. Although, we haven't heard about her bowel movements yet.

I open the fridge and almost laugh out loud at my own inner dialogue when I look up to see my mom staring at me.

"What? Me?" I ask and my mom nods, like it's so strange for her to ask me about my day. Judging from the look on Alice and Jasper's faces, it really is that strange.

I shrug and close the fridge. I don't know what she wants me to say.

"It was okay," I mumble and my mom has tears in her eyes. Like I've just said the most fascinating thing in the world.

"That's great honey, really, really great." She rushes to give me a hug and I'm starting to think she knows something I don't. Like she got a call from one of my brain doctors and I have a huge tumor. And I'm dying or something. They have to tell me that shit first, right?

"What's wrong with you?" I ask and she just shakes her head.

"Nothing, I'm just so happy you're happy." Her eyes are glittering.

"What the hell's going on here?" I'm starting to get pissed off. Who the hell does she think she is, with her patronizing as shit positive attitude?

"Nothing." She's coy, pretending to be innocent and now I know something's up. "Just that Alice told us about the special lady you have in your life."

Oh sweet zombie Jesus.

No wonder my mom looks like she wants to pee herself.

And how the hell did Alice find out about this?

Luckily, I don't even need to ask questions in this household. These people can't wait to divulge as much information as possible. The more they get to hear themselves speak, the better.

"Bella called me today. She said she's coming to the play. And that she's coming with you." Alice flashes one of her knowing smiles.

"I'm not dating Bella," I say and my mom's face falls.

"What? Why not?" she says with a pout and I almost want to hug her.

"Because Jake is. I'm kinda seeing her sister, Rosalie." I mumble the last part, hoping they'll be too distracted by the first part to notice the rest.

"What? Rosalie Hale?" Alice is squeaking this time and my mom claps her hand to her mouth. Wow, great vote of confidence there.

"Oh, honey. Rosalie is gorgeous! Good job, sweetheart," my mom says and I can't wait to get out of here. "She always was, though. Remember when you were kids? You had the biggest crush on her."

"Did not," I say and everyone laughs. Even Jasper. Like he was there. Asshole.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. She's a doll, and so brilliant too! Just a fine choice, son." My mom smiles and then touches my cheek.

"Yes, she's of fine breeding," I say with a bad accent and my mom rolls her eyes.

"You know what I mean." Yeah, I do know what she means and it's exactly what she means that bothers me. Like I couldn't get a girl like Rosalie Hale. Don't they know I'm the shit now? Near death experiences will do that for you.

We get ready to leave, and I'm sweating bullets. My parents want to wait for me, but I tell them to go on ahead. Get us seats, I say, like Alice's play is going to sell out the whole of Kennedy High Auditorium. Jake gets to my house and I'm about to puke, so we smoke a bowl and I feel better.

I drive the fifty yards down the street to pick up the girls. I pull into the icy driveway and Bella's out the door before I even turn off the ignition. She hops in the back seat, her rainbow hair speckled with melting snowflakes. It's almost a hazard.

"Hey," she bounces between the seats, breathless and shivering in her poofy coat. "Rose'll be out in a sec."

Jake climbs into the back over the center console, kicking me in the face in the process. Bella screeches and he's growling and I'm awkward.

Ten minutes later, Rosalie saunters out the door in a calf-length red wool coat and leather gloves. And heels. She's wearing heels in the snow, a big fuck you to the elements. She looks perfect. And nervous. It's kind of cute, that she's nervous. Rosalie Hale isn't ever nervous.

She floats into the front seat and kisses my cheek. There's no turning back now.

Rose blasts the heat to the point I think my skin's going to catch fire and Bella and Jake giggle like five year olds in the back seat. They're writing messages on my foggy window. Jake's probably drawing a dick. He can't draw anything else.

We get to Kennedy and Rosalie checks her makeup in the mirror, the leather of her glove smooths under her eye. She brushes her fingers through her long, golden hair and smiles to inspect her teeth and then turns to me expectantly. For approval.

"Your hair looks really pretty," I say and she beams and opens her door. The cold rushes in, icy flakes melting as they hit the heat.

"God, I hope this doesn't stick," she says as she pitters to the overhang and I slam my door shut. Bella's on my side, standing with her face tilted to the dark sky, her eyes closed.

"It feels like a thousand needles," she says, her eyes squeezed tight, a fog of exhale erupting around her face like a volcano.

"That sounds delightful, really." I laugh and she doesn't move.

"You have no idea," she murmurs.

"Hey, Edward. Check out my artwork," Jake says from the other side of the car and I don't bother. I know it's a dick. He just laughs and grabs Bella's waist and she comes alive. He hoists her onto his back and they run for cover.

Rosalie's waiting, her body shaking, her eyes darting from left to right and she takes my arm when I'm close enough. It's a short walk to the auditorium and the campus is buzzing with activity. The camera crew is here, and so is everyone else in the town. Even the mayor. They all want their five minutes. And Alice knows it. She might be smarter than I thought.

I see my parents down in the front and I'm shocked as hell to see them speaking with Mike and his new theater friends. He still looks like Mike, just in better clothes. That match. And he's not wearing his glasses anymore. He must have gotten contacts. And he cut his hair. It's all gelled and spiked. But he still looks like Mike.

"Mike!" Bella shouts at him and all his corduroy clad cronies sharply turn their angular jaws. He glares and my mom grins, my dad waves us over and my feet are filled with lead. I hope he leaves before we get down there.

He doesn't. Instead, he smiles at Bella and offers her an embrace. He picks her up, a big kiss on her cheek. I had no idea they were this…friendly.

He puts her down and nods a hello to the rest of us and it just feels weird. Like wax on your fingertip. You can only stand it for so long before you just crumble up the smooth mold and peel it away from your skin.

Apparently, Mike likes his new, smooth mold because he just hugs my mom and then he's gone. And I'm an asshole. Rosalie's tied to my arm but Bella's not one to wait around for silence to clot. Instead, she gently offers my mom a hug.

"Hi, Mrs. Masen. How are you?" Bella squeezes her and my mom is delighted. Rosalie looks destroyed. But it's only for an instant. She puts on her face, and she's embracing my mom.

"It's so nice to see you," Rosalie croons and my mom is charmed. Jake plops down in the nearest seat, his lack of enthusiasm evident in his entire aura. My dad is delighted, drooling for the opportunity to flap his gums at new ears.

"You know, we went to school with your dad and uncle. Played football with them both. Great guys, great guys," my dad says and I hope to God he doesn't go into another high school football story. "What are they doing these days?"

"Our dad's an investment advisor, at the credit union. And Uncle Charlie's in Washington." Rosalie seats herself next to my father and it looks as though they're made for each other.

"Tell them Ed Masen sends his regards. They were great guys, great guys," my dad rambles and luckily, the house lights flicker, indicating it's time to take our seats.

"Well, I've got the best seat in the house!" my dad exclaims. He's flanked by my mom and my kinda girlfriend. Yeah, that's not creepy at all.

Bella sits next to me and on her other side is Jake. Her knees are in her chest, her heels on the edge of her seat and Jake's arm's draped across her shoulders. I wonder if I should put my arm around Rosalie. Or hold her hand or something. But then I feel like my hand would be too close to my father and that's just weird.

I settle for leaning my elbow against hers on the armrest between us. She seems satisfied with this.

The play starts and we quickly learn that the protagonist, some psychic chick named Mary has developed this way of harvesting her predictions. She keeps them in this box and as long as the box is closed, they don't come true. But of course, there are these dumb ass kids who steal the box and open it. All the predictions come flying out and all this shit starts happening. It's actually a really good story. Just not for a cheesy high school auditorium.

The sets are like a Lady Gaga video, all futuristic yet vintage looking, like Alice couldn't make up her mind what time period she wanted to represent. I think she actually mentioned something about this, it's supposed to create a timeless effect. But really, it's just confusing. Anyway, by the end of it, Mary's gift is actually her curse and she's arrested for murder and conspiracy and shit. She's put into this mental institution and the last scene is her, all alone, hugging her box. But you never really find out if Mary is psychic or just psycho. It's creepy as all shit.

Damn, my sister's a dark, twisted fuck.

And the crowd goes wild.

Everyone's on their feet, cheering and whooping and hollering. Bella's crying and Rosalie's dabbing the makeup from under her eyes. My parents hug each other as the players bow. They bring out Alice and she waddles onto the stage in her black dress. There are roses in her arms and her eyes are glittering under the lights. She waves to the audience, blows a kiss and then the heavy red curtain falls and it's over.

After all the hoopla dies down, we head over to Denny's for appetizers and hot fudge sundaes. I order mozzerella sticks and Jake gets some bacon and cheddar skins. Bella orders an Oreo milkshake and Rose gets a Mr. Pibb. She's not hungry, she says, but she's talking a mile a minute about how profound Alice's statement was. She just keeps sipping her Mr. Pibb and making arrays with the tiny cups of coffee creamer.

I take a bite of the breaded melted cheese and heat explodes into my mouth. Fuck! I've singed off half my taste buds.

"Hot?" Bella asks me and I nod. She offers me her milkshake but I refuse. Instead, I suck down some ice water, trying to create a cooling force field of liquid around the magma now sizzling on my tongue.

Our waitress is Emily tonight, another one of Jake's cousins. She graduated two years ago and goes to the community college in town. She's trying to get her AA in restaurant management. Yeah, people still get their Associate's degree. I know, I was surprised by this information as well. It's cool though, she never charges us for drinks and we give her an extra big tip. Everybody wins.

"Everything okay here?" she asks as she brings out Jake's skins. I nod but can't talk yet and she laughs because you'd think I'd know better by now. "Can I get you another soda?"

Rosalie nods and pushes over her cup.

"What'd you have?"

"I don't know, Mr. Pibb or Dr. Pepper. Whatever, they all taste the same." Rosalie waves her off and I can't believe the words coming out of this chick's mouth.

"They do not all taste the same. Dr. Pepper is by far superior. I can't believe you can't tell the difference," I balk and Rosalie raises her eyebrows. Jake pushes away from the table. He's heard this argument before. He's aware of what's about to proceed.

"Oh my God, it's _soda_," Rosalie says in this snotty as shit attitude and for some reason, her tone of voice grates my nerves.

"It's not _just _soda. It's a quality beverage being compared with a cheap imitation created by a wealthy brand that didn't want to be upstaged by the little guy. Trust me, Mr. Pibb is no fucking doctor." Emily leaves the table with a roll of her eyes, but Bella looks enthralled. Like a small child seeing fireworks for the first time.

"Really," Rosalie says and the doubt is so thick it's hardening my arteries. "What's the difference then? What is so special about Dr. Pepper that makes it so superior to its cheap imitation?"

"Um, Dr. Pepper obviously went to _medical_ school," I say and Rosalie narrows her eyes. Bella lets out a loud burst of laughter and then clasps her hand over her mouth. This makes me smile. But Rosalie doesn't think it's funny.

"You think making me look foolish is funny?" she asks sweetly. Does she really expect me to answer?

"I don't know," I say and Jake and Bella shrink away from the table.

"You're an asshole," Rosalie snips and I sigh.

"Rosie, come on. It was just a joke." Bella reaches across the table to try to grab her hand but Rosalie shrugs her off. Her glass clatters to the table and there's ice and Mr. Pibb in my lap.

"Fucking son-of-a-bitch!" I shout and I swear it's just an automatic response. I mean, there's fucking ice in my lap. In the middle of November. This could be catastrophic to my sperm count.

"No, fuck _you_, we're done!" Rosalie turns to stalk off and now there's soda dripping down my balls. Great. Now I have to go chasing after her with sticky crotch.

Or do I?

Actually, I don't have to chase her anymore. I don't have to chase anyone. They all chase me now.

And to tell you the truth, I don't really want to.

...

**A/N:**

I love the varied responses to Edward's behavior! You know, these high school years are for trying on personalities. I had about fifty of them. Thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts.

Also, thank you to the pimps out there who have been recommending this story. I don't know who you are, but I'm sending you virtual hugs. Can you feel it?

**Boo** prereads and **Lightstardusting** beta's. They're the wind beneath my wings.


	9. Keep Ya Head Up

CH 9 – Keep Ya Head Up

"Look at her, she's unfazed. Isn't she supposed to be spiraling into the depths of despair?" I ask. Jake rolls his eyes and chugs the rest of his shitty beer.

"Stupid bitch," I add, because it makes me feel good. We all know she's not stupid.

Rosalie and I are officially done. After the Dr. Pepper affair at Denny's, she called and asked if she could meet me somewhere.

"I deserve better than this," she said after taking a sip of her Cafe Americano. I didn't argue. I think she was expecting a fight, but I didn't indulge. I just nodded, like a fricking bobble head.

"I feel like you don't appreciate me. I could have any guy at this school and I picked you and now you're treating me like shit," she continued. Bobble, bobble, bobble. Thank God she couldn't tell what I was really thinking about.

I got a new video game. It's totally consuming my brain.

After she left, I finished my latte and bought a new zombie novel, _World War Z_. Have you read this? It's amazing. I think they're making it into a movie.

"So she called it a break-up?" Jake interrupts my reminiscing. "That's funny, I never thought you were that serious to begin with."

He grabs another beer from the cooler in Emmett McCarty's kitchen. Don't ask me why I'm here. I was bamboozled. Jake showed up at my house tonight and said he wanted to go to the drive-in. There's a new WWII movie out, so I took the bait. Instead, he took a detour, right through McCarty's neighborhood.

_Let's just stop for a sec, _he said_. Grab a couple beers and bone the fuck out._ I threw a fit, like a goddamn child and he called me a pussy.

_Show them you don't give a fuck. You've got a rep to uphold now. Be the dick, man. Be the dick._

God, Jake's an asshole.

I guess I'm one too. Because you know what I did? I got out of that car and sauntered into that house like I'm fucking Meta World Peace himself and Emmett didn't say a damn word. He gave me the nod, all stern-like and I laughed. He didn't know how to react so he walked away. He fucking walked away from me.

I _am_ the dick.

Rosalie shows up with Lauren and the plastic Romanians and she's all done up. But she's different now. She looks really hot, but all I can see is a padded bra and fake eyes. But goddamn if she doesn't know how to use them.

"We weren't serious. We weren't even fucking. We weren't anything, really," I mutter and Jake snorts. He thinks I'm lying.

"You're not the only one she _wasn't fucking_." He nods toward Rose and she's hanging all over Emmett.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask and he just shrugs.

"You weren't exclusive. Get over it, man. She did." Obviously.

"It's an act. She's crying on the inside," I murmur but Jake doesn't hear me. He's gone, chasing down Lauren. Bella must still be giving him the brush.

I gotta get the hell out of here. But I don't have a car and I'm already pretty buzzed so I head into the living room instead. I crash on the couch, next to Felix and his girlfriend, Heidi. They're sucking face, and her elbow keeps knocking me in the head. I wonder what the wind chill is tonight. And whether or not I could walk home before freezing to death.

"Sorry," Heidi says again, her elbow almost blinding me this time.

I wonder if freezing to death would be worse than having to suffer through this shit all night.

Finally, Felix needs some air. Or maybe some chapstick. At any rate, Heidi's still on his lap and she's fixing her bra. He pushes her off and then he's cutting four white powdery lines across the stack of magazines on Emmett's coffee table. I look around but no one's noticing the Class 4 felony going on right before their eyes. He's going to snort coke right here off Oprah's face. Holy shit, that's hard core.

Heidi licks her lips and kneels before the table and it reminds me of communion or something. Felix sits above her, offering the host. She bows her head and then raises her face to her king in adulation.

He spins Oprah towards me and I'm transfixed, a fine dust concealing the headline _Decluttering Advice for Couples_. It's an offering and if I don't take it, he might be insulted. Besides, Heidi looks elated, totally blissed out, like she just snorted equal parts double fudge brownie and orgasm.

I could really use some elation right now. And a double fudge brownie.

Just as I'm about to bow my head to the all mighty white line, I'm interrupted by a flash of color. Bella Hale swoops in and nestles herself between me and my shepherd.

"Hey, Felix. I heard your band got a gig at the Pavilion. That's pretty damn impressive." Bella's talking to him, but staring at me with big, brown double fudge brownie eyes. She tilts her head until she's completely in my line of sight and Felix disappears behind her.

"Let me know if you want to party. I'll get you in," he says and Bella nods. Felix is sucking up the powder now, exposing the Top 5 Books Oprah's ever read and for some reason this makes me laugh.

God, I hate my life.

"You need a ride?" she murmurs and I nod. She stands and holds out her hand, bare fingers sticking out from gray knitted gloves and I clutch them.

Bella leads me through the house, like slow motion or something. We walk by Rosalie and Emmett. His hand's under her sweater and gripping her waist. Her fake violet eyes follow us, paralyzed by the union of our appendages and then she's distracted by Emmett's lips on her ear. She laughs and then she glares. _See how much I don't care about you?_

Jake's on the stairs with Ben and he stops mid-drink to watch us move toward the front door. _What the fuck_? I see his lips move but Bella doesn't hesitate. She maneuvers the crowd and throws open the door to a wide, white world.

Snow. It's fucking snowing.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath, her hand still gripping mine. She leads me to a little red pickup that looks like it's been rolled a few times and then put back together with scotch tape.

"Wait, just one second," she says and puts her foot on the back tire, pulling herself up over the side of the bed. She's wearing a skirt and I try not to look.

No biggie, she's wearing tights. She shakes her hands, rubs them together and then lifts up the mat in the bed of the truck. She pulls out this huge butcher knife.

She uses the knife to pry open the back window and stows it under the mat. She climbs into the cab, unlocks the doors and then opens the passenger door from the inside. I hope she's not stealing this piece of shit.

"Let's go, Masen. It's fucking cold," she shouts to me.

"I'm not in the mood for Grand Theft." It's freezing out here. And I left my coat in Jake's car.

"Oh my God, you're so boring!" she teases and I hurry to jump in the cab. She pulls onto the street, her timing belt screeching as she peels away.

"It's not stolen. I'm constantly locking my keys in the truck, by mistake. So I started just leaving them in here and using the knife. Plus, if I'm ever attacked by zombies, I'll have a weapon." She grins, the street lights flashing across her face. She pushes her hair behind her ear and I notice it's dotted with like six or seven earrings. There's a red gem, and tiny hoops and a thick bar. A turquoise stone and a peace sign. One of them is a faucet, that looks like it's coming out of her ear. That one's kind of gross.

Bella's driving slow, but still her turns are sharp. Thank God the snow's not sticking. It melts as soon as it hits the windshield. Some old crooner is on the radio and I'd change it but I'm not even sure how. This stereo is ancient!

"You like Otis?" she asks and I try to play it cool. I have no clue what she's talking about. I cough a little, clear my throat to buy time and she laughs.

"Oh come on, you don't know Otis? _Sittin' on the dock of the bay_?" she sings and I feel like an idiot. Of course I know that song. Anyone who's ever gone to the dentist knows that song.

"Dentist music. You listen to dentist music," I say and she laughs again.

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for oral hygiene."

I stare out the window, at the dots of color streaking by until I notice, she's not taking me home. She's pulling onto the highway, heading into the city. She's kidnapping me.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask and am met with that smile. Knowing, analyzing, digesting smile. That smile freaks me the fuck out.

"The airport," she answers matter-of-fact.

"What? Why?" I ask and she laughs.

"You'll see. There's something I want to show you."

"At the airport? Look, I'm going to need to stash some shit in your car then because I guarantee I won't make it through security."

"We're not going _into_ the airport. Just outside."

"Like in the loading zone? Isn't it illegal to loiter in the loading zone?"

"Jesus, will you shut up about it? I just want to show you something cool and you're ruining it." Bella swerves into the next lane, speeding around an old Honda. Well, speeding is a loose interpretation. Her truck can barely break sixty without shaking. The steering wheel is trembling, her white knuckles sticking out from her gray, fuzzy fingerless gloves. She's holding on for dear life but that doesn't stop her from making it to O'Hare in twenty minutes flat.

She pulls onto a gravel road and the glow of civilization disappears. Then it's just the lamps of her old truck and the blinking of a control tower. It's not snowing anymore but there's a fine fog that's impeding visibility and Bella doesn't see the fence until she's practically plowing it down.

"Shit!" she yelps and I clutch the handle above my head. She slams on the brakes and her tires spin in the gravel, kicking up dirt and rocks and sending particles of dust into the beams of light coming from her truck.

She parks and kills the engine. I hope she's not going to try to take advantage of me. I might not be able to fight her off.

There's not a shred of light from the moon, thanks to the clouds. It's so dark I can barely see my own hands.

"Marco?" I say and she laughs.

"Just wait for it," she says.

It's silent for a couple minutes and all I can hear is her breathing. But it's not uncomfortable. It's nice, kind of. Like peaceful. Normally, I'd be choking on the silence, but I can't bear to mar the perfect stillness with some joke.

Instead, it's Bella who tears through the quiet.

"You saved my life once," she says. "Do you remember?"

"What?" I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what the hell she's referring to but I've got nothing. Thank God she can't see my face.

"I was eight. I was at your house and Alice and I took the bikes out for a ride. Your mom made you follow us. You had to ride your razor scooter because I took your bike. We were riding out to the wash, and Alice kept doing this trick. On the downhill, she'd step over the center bar and balance on one side of the bike. You were worried sick. You made such a big deal about it. I guess I kind of wanted to impress you so I tried it." She pauses, shifts in her seat. Like she's changed her mind about telling me this story.

"I fell, crashed your bike in the middle of the street and banged up my knees real bad. I was bleeding and crying and like so embarrassed, I could hardly breathe. A car turned the corner and you pulled me out of the street."

I can't remember any of this. Except the stepping over the bar thing. We used to do that all the time.

"Anyway, it was probably a lot less dramatic than it seemed to my eight year old self. I don't think I was in any real danger, but at the time, I thought you saved my life. Anyway, I've just always remembered that."

I don't know what to say. Like I literally have no words.

"Isn't it weird how when you're sitting in the dark, you can admit the most asinine shit? Like why would I tell you that story just now? So random."

"I saw Rose fucking Emmett," I blurt. Silence. Dead silence. "The night, when I fell out of the tree. I saw Rose and Emmett, you know, thrusting. In your vegetable garden."

Why the hell am I telling her this? Dear brain, please stop fucking up my life.

"That's not really news," she says. "My sister's not as perfect as she pretends to be. Like us all, her closet is full of skeletons."

"At least it's not dead bodies," I mutter and Bella snorts. She moves and her boots rub against the vinyl seat. It sounds like a fart. I hope she doesn't think I just farted. Oh God, I hope I don't have to fart any time soon!

"Is that why you fell?" she asks and I sigh. I really hoped I could die without divulging this information. Then she had to go and tell me some adorable story about how I saved her life and now I feel I have to confess something too.

"I was just shocked. But yeah, that's why I fell."

"Do you love her?" she asks. This is confusing. A couple weeks ago the answer would have been an emphatic yes. But today, I don't think that I do. I mean, I love Dr. Pepper. And I love CornNuts. And right now, I love both of those things more than I love Rosalie Hale.

"I don't think so. I don't think I really love anything anymore."

Bella sighs, and I can just picture the look on her face. Calculating, discerning, puzzled. She moves and her boots rub against the vinyl seats again. I hate that sound!

"Did you just fart?" she snickers and I scoff.

"Of course not," I breathe, exasperated.

"You did too, I just heard you rip one." She's laughing hysterically and I think she's fucking with me.

"I did not! It was the seat...the vinyl and your boots," I try to explain but she's still giggling. "Oh, come on! You have to hear that sound at least twenty times a day."

Just then, her truck starts to shake but the engine is still off. I look around but I can't see anything.

"Look up, out the windshield," Bella says and I press my face against the freezing glass. The massive belly of a 747 skims past the top of the car. The engines roar and my breath catches in my chest, exhilaration pounding through my veins. There are lights now, small colored lights guiding the large craft safely to the ground.

"Holy shit!" I yell. My heart contracts and all the air is forced from my lungs, like the breath has been knocked completely out of my body. I think Bella says something, but I can't quite make out the words.

"That's amazing, just…my heart is pounding. Like it feels like it's going to pop out my rib cage." I clutch at my chest and there's light, cold fingers shimmying underneath my own. She's feeling my heart. I leave my hand there, on top of hers, holding my heart.

"Let me feel," she murmurs, her voice close and quiet. "I forgot what it's like."

Bella and I watch four planes land, filling the silence with awkward confessions and embarrassing tales. I tell her about what happened with Mike and she gives me a lecture on being sensitive to his privacy.

"You shouldn't have forced his hand like that. He's not going to see it as being helpful. He's going to think you were being judgmental. And it's not your job to judge him. To judge anyone really." She adds the last part quietly and I wonder who she's referring to. Jake was right. She speaks in riddles, like a goddamn sphinx.

She tells me about running track and how it's the only extracurricular activity her parents hate so naturally, she stuck with it.

"They don't think running's a sport. My dad actually said, running is punishment for sports. But I hate competitive sports. And every time I run, it's just me against myself. I win every time." This makes me laugh because it's kind of cheesy. She scoffs and then hits my arm and I'm reminded at how close she is. I like it when she's close to me.

She doesn't touch my heart again, but she does laugh at all my jokes.

In four hours, I learn more about Bella Hale than I ever knew about her sister. I can't even see her, just a quiet voice in the dark. She pulls a wool blanket from behind the bench seat when it gets unbearably cold and she keeps inching closer to me. She pulls her knees into her chest and they're practically resting in my armpit. It's comfortable and I'm warm, but she still turns the engine on every once in a while so we won't freeze to death. She doesn't know about my excessive perspiration. And I'm not about to tell her. Not while she's so close to my armpit.

It's almost two in the morning by the time Bella pulls back onto the highway. She drives slowly and I make sure not to fall asleep, just in case she can't keep her eyes open.

"Just drive to your house. I can walk from there," I say when she exits the freeway. I don't want her driving alone right now. Even if it's only a block.

"What? No, that's ridiculous. I'll drop you at home." She yawns and scratches her head, the rainbow mound expanding around her fingers.

"I'd rather you didn't. Please, just let me walk," I argue.

"No. Because then I'll be worried about you." She stops at a red light. Turns down the heat. Shit, maybe she can see my pit stains.

"What if you fall asleep driving? Most fatal accidents happen within five miles of the home, you know." Thank you, Dr. Phil, for that persuasive bit of evidence there.

The light turns green but she just waits. There's no one behind us so it's no big deal but after a while she purses her lips. She's squinting at me and I don't know what that look means. Is she considering my mental state? Or my mental prowess? I don't know!

"I'll just text you when I get home," she finally says and then looks away, staring into the red again light. "Give me your number."

She's focused on her phone, entering me as a contact, I assume. So I prattle off my digits. After my number is secured in her smart little phone, she runs the red light and stops in front of my house. She puts the truck in park and I want to hug her. For getting me out of that party, for showing me the planes. For touching my heart.

But I'm a chicken shit, so I just wave and she pulls away. I hold my phone until I get her message.

_Got home. Had to outrun zombies. Hope you have a shotgun._

I think I love her.

Hells Bells. Contact saved.

I walk around to the back slider and the door's unlocked. It's easier to sneak in the slider than the front door for a few reasons. One, I only have to open it a fraction. A benefit of being a bean pole. Two, no creaking hinges. Lastly, if my parents happen to catch me coming in through the slider, there's a bit of leeway for improv. _What? No, I didn't just get home, I was watching TV and heard a noise outside._ Or _It's stuffy in here, I needed some air._

I inch the door open a bit and silently creep into the dark house. Like a fucking ninja. I take off my coat and throw it on the couch and it groans. Probably one of Alice's henchmen.

"Sport? Are you just getting home?"

"Nope, just getting some air." I yawn and stretch and can barely see the outline of my dad's face. Why is he on the couch? He doesn't argue, probably doesn't want to reinforce my bad behavior by giving it attention.

"Well, back to bed." I make a beeline for my room but my dad stops me.

"Jasper's in there."

"What?" I shout and my voice bounces off the silent walls.

"Keep it down, you'll wake them all up." He gets up and shuffles into the kitchen, flicking on the light in the process.

He's wearing his red flannel bathrobe and his microfiber Chicago Bears sweatpants. He's not wearing his glasses and his hair is flattened on one side. He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. He pours it into a glass and tops it off with a Fresca, like he's a sixty year old cat lady.

"Why the hell is Jasper in my room?" I'm having difficulty controlling the volume of my voice.

"Look, son, you have every right to feel your privacy has been violated. I'm sorry about that."

"Not a fucking answer to my question, Dad," I say through clenched teeth. He clears his throat and sips his makeshift wine cooler.

"Fair enough. With the impending birth of your niece or nephew, Alice's camera crew has decided to take up residence here in case she goes into labor. Because she has such a unique situation, they want to be available at a moment's notice. They're in the guest room."

"And Jasper is in my bed because…" I draw out the word because he still hasn't answered my question.

He sighs, sips his wine and then purses his lips, like the fact that he has to explain this tastes terrible. I love it.

"Your sister wants him to stay here too, just in case."

"What did mom say?"

"She agrees." He spits the words, and the mystery of his sleeping arrangement is solved.

"Why isn't he in Alice's room then? It's not like he can knock her up, again," I ask and my dad closes his eyes.

"We thought you'd be at Jake's tonight. We'll figure out permanent sleeping arrangements tomorrow."

"Why can't he sleep on the couch in your office? Why can't he sleep on the couch out here? Or in the basement? Why did you have to put him in_my _room?"

"I told you, we thought you'd be gone…"

I forget trying to reason with him. Instead, I march upstairs and flick on my light. Sure enough, Jasper's in my bed. In his underwear. Christ on a cross, I'm going to need a disinfectant. And maybe a tetanus shot.

"Get out of my room," I bark and Jasper scratches his head and rubs his eyes.

"Hey Edward. What up, man?" he smirks as he pushes his hair behind his ears, wipes his nose and clears his throat. As much as I hate him in my bed, it's hard to be mad at the dude who's going to be tied to my sister for the rest of his days. I decide to take it easy on him.

"My dad said you can go sleep with Alice," I say and he looks around, like my dad's there to confirm. He's not. He left me to deal with the intruder on my own.

"Really, man? Because he was straight pissed when Alice told him I'd be crashin' here. I really wanna be there for the kid, you know? There are enough kids in this world with absentee fathers. I'm not gonna be one, man." He stands there in his boxers and this t-shirt with Stewie from Family Guy. I wonder if he understands all these cartoons aren't really for kids.

"You're crashing here? Like for good? And my dad said it was cool?" I ask befuddled. I hope to God they don't expect me to share a bathroom with him. All that hair is going to clog up the drains.

"I guess. Alice said she worked it out with them." Ha. Alice's version of working it out is doing what she wants and waiting for the shit storm to hit.

Yeah, tomorrow's weather's looking really shitty. I can't wait.

I expect to be awakened by loud cries of injustice, but instead I'm met with Jake and he's smacking me upside the head.

"Get up, fucker," he says and I pull my pillow over my face. I was having the greatest dream, the perfect blend of rainbows and zombies.

"Go away," I mumble and he's pacing.

"What the hell, Edward? I asked you if you were interested in her and you said no. How could you go behind my back? Like a fucking little bitch!" It takes me a minute to realize he's talking about Bella and when I do, I'm livid.

"I'm the bitch? Weren't you fingering Lauren Malloy last week? Does Bella know about that? I didn't think you were still interested."

"As a matter of fact, Bella does know about that. I thought it'd make her jealous, but she doesn't give a shit. It's all a game to her. And now that she's won, she'll drop you like a bad hammer."

"It's habit, you dillhole. Drop you like a bad _habit_." This idiom always really confused me. Bad habits are always the hardest to drop.

"It doesn't matter, I see how it is. You're a poser, man. Straight fucked in the head if you think stealing another man's girl is cool."

"I didn't steal her! She gave me a ride home. God, Jake, and you wonder why everyone hates you. It's because you're an asshole. A stupid, ignorant, arrogant, asshole. Can't even function unless you're the center of attention. You just can't get over the fact that she likes me. She likes me and she doesn't like you." I'm shouting now and I just hope to God my parents have sense enough to stay out of this. They usually do when it involves Jake.

He just stands there but he's fuming. Which means I hit the nail right on the head. That's all this is, he's not mad at me, he's mad at his bruised ego. And he's taking it out on me, just like always.

Well, not anymore.

"Get the fuck out of my room, Jake. Go call Lauren or something. I'm sure she can fix your fractured little ego."

"Man, fuck you," is all he says and then he's gone, leaving a wave of pity in his wake.

…

Thanksgiving in my house is always a chill affair. Sometimes my mom's parents show up, if they have a break in their travel schedule. My mom's sister comes once in a while, but she's living in Vegas right now with husband number three. And my dad's parent's are dead. So it's always just us.

My mom cooks a turkey, even though Alice's been a vegetarian since she was ten. A whole turkey for the three of us. She slaves away in the kitchen all day while my dad watches football.

Today, though, we have a house full of people. Alice's band of merry-men are spending the holiday with us and my mom couldn't be more thrilled. She's been preparing for days, like there's a prize for most American Thanksgiving ever. She's made pies and tarts, yams and potatoes, rolls and cornbread and all from scratch. They even put the leaf in the table and there's place settings, little cards with our names on it. All in the name of oppressing the native people. Yay, smallpox!

Honestly, I can't find it within myself to care about any of this shit right now. It's been a whole week since Emmett's party. Bella hasn't called. No texts. I mean, she lives on the next block. She could walk here for crying out loud. We've had the whole week off because of Thanksgiving, but even if we'd been in school, I wouldn't have the faintest clue where to find her. Although, it's not like I've been looking. I only recently discovered she still existed. Maybe she's been there the whole time, I just never noticed.

I notice now.

It has been snowing. Maybe she's sick. Maybe she's in trouble and can't leave the house. Maybe Rosalie won't let her see me.

Maybe she's just not interested in my friendship and that was a one-time deal.

Maybe she's still interested in Jake. Fucking prick, he'd just stomp on her heart with his stupid skateboarding shoes. She doesn't have a Facebook, so I can't even stalk her. It bothers me how insignificant I am in her life.

Alice is due in a few weeks so the camera crew will be here until the kid spews from her loins. Luckily, they got this trailer parked in the front yard, Uncle Eddie style. She ordered this plastic inflatable tub from Amazon. It's supposed to help with the contractions or something. The downstairs room has been turned into the birthing room and Alice's new bedroom. Because it has it's own bathroom. Alice is ecstatic. Not because she has a room for her baby, but because she can shit in peace on her very own throne.

She persuaded my parents to let Jasper move in. That's right, he's living with us now. In her room. And now my dad's talking about building them a guest suite in the backyard. Because, you know, they've worked so hard and just can't catch a break.

I think they just can't stand the thought of Alice leaving. Even though that's what children are supposed to do, you know, grow up.

"Edward, can you put out the crab dip and crackers?" My mom asks me sweetly. Alice is right by the fridge. It would take me at least thirty seconds to walk over there. Thirty seconds of my miserable life that I'll never get back. I'd say something but the cameras are rolling and I'm pretty sure they've already type cast me as the angry youth.

"Sure," I reply. I saunter up to the fridge, staring at my sister the whole time. She's smirking and I wish I could flick her in the face. That's what that smug look on her face does to me. But it's rude to hit pregnant people.

"Excuse me, Alice. Mother would like the crab dip." I accentuate the dip. She slides over and leans against the counter, her monstrous gut still in my way. So I nudge her belly. Her arms wrap around her stomach and she's irate.

"How dare you?" she shouts and I squint. She has got to be kidding.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hit you in the fetus?" I say and I can't keep a straight face. The whole thing is so stupid and uncalled for. I barely even touched her.

"You've got some nerve," she says and she whips around all dramatic like. She grabs a tissue and stomps out of the room.

"Jasper!" She screeches. "We have to leave. It's not safe here with my brother!"

"You can't leave. Edward, apologize." My mom panics, her hands covered with oven mitts.

"Why? It's not like I hit him in his soft spot," I say.

"You asshole!" My sister shrieks. She looks like she wants to claw my eyes out. Luckily, she can hardly lift her arms over her head. And I'm a good eighteen inches taller than her.

"Stop it!" My mom shouts. "Both of you. This is Thanksgiving and we have a lot to be thankful for, dammit. Now get along or I want you both to leave!"

Who is this woman who looks exactly like my mother but is packing a mean set of balls? My mom's never yelled at Alice. I mean, sure, she was technically yelling at me too. But still, my sister might implode.

Instead, she cries.

"I'm sorry, mom. I'm just so stressed," she hugs my mom and the cameras are still filming. It's like a daytime soap opera in this house.

"Oh my God, give me a fucking break," I say because the ridiculousness is making me want to gouge my brain out with a spoon. I expect my sister to have some retort but she stays silent. For the first time ever.

She stands there, her teary eyes brimming over. She's wearing sweats, her belly sticking out over the top of the waistband, her hair flat against her head where she was lying on the couch. But there's something different about my sister today, something I've never seen in her before.

She looks scared.

Like legitimately petrified. And in that instant, I want to take it all back and start over, do anything that will make them happy.

But then they'll know. They'll know this asshole bit has all been for show and it'll all be gone. The concern, the consideration, the goddamn attention, it'll all disappear along with my self-respect. And I can't give that up right now. Not now that I've just found it.

"Cheer up, sis. At least the turkey's fatter than you," I say and my sister narrows her eyes.

"I hate you," she spits quietly and then runs upstairs. The camera chases her out of the room but the producer stays behind.

"Touchdown!" My dad shouts from the living room and he's clapping and laughing. He saunters into the kitchen, perfectly elated. "Whoa, did you see that? And they say that kid's not talented. That was talent, right there."

"No dad, it was Jesus," I say and my mom just shakes her head. She's disgusted with me. She might even hate me. Alice does.

"Turkey needs carving, honey," my mom says to my dad and he stretches.

"I'm on it," he says and I wander into the living room seeking some solitude. The producer dude's on the couch and I sigh.

Funny, I've never actually been formally introduced to him. I kind of feel bad for him because he has to be here with my crackpot family instead of with his home with his own.

"So how much do you hate your life?" I ask him with a smirk and he purses his lips.

"I'm hating it all the way to the bank. Grow wheat while the sun shines, you know?" he says and I go back to pretending I don't know him. "You're making my job a bit more complicated, if it makes you feel better."

"Me? What did I do?" I ask and he chuckles.

"No, not in a bad way. This whole, bad-boy, troubled youth thing you've adopted is really very entertaining. We weren't sure what we were going to do with you but now you've become a real character. It's great television, man."

Something about this makes me want to punch him. Like it's all a mockery. Doesn't he know I have brain damage? I'm appalled by his insensitivity to my condition. I wonder if Al Sharpton would represent me in a law suit.

"I fell out of a tree, dude. My brain, it's fucked," I say and the dude just smirks. I swear he almost rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, sure you did. You're damaged, alright." Well, that's unprofessional. Just then the camera guy peeks into the room.

"Hey, Aro. Alice is heading over to the Whitlock's. You want us to roll?"

"Yeah, let's head out," he nods and the whole whirlwind of reality television is packed in their van and pulling out of the driveway within minutes.

Dinner is excruciating. My mom is pissed off, apparent in the way she's hacking her turkey to small pieces. My dad's listening to the game from the dining room so I bet he's glad dinner's extra silent tonight. And I'm not even hungry. In fact, I kind of feel sick. And I kind of miss my sister.

I spend the rest of the night in my room, practicing some trill exercises on my trumpet. Riverside High is playing Kennedy tomorrow, the last game of the playoff season before the championship. It's the biggest game of the year. The biggest game of my high school career, and I'm going to sitting with Cullen on the sidelines. Holding his sheet music and his mug of cocoa and doing whatever other punk bitch tasks he can find for me to do. Maybe I'll have to massage the wind ensembles fingers or worse, their cheeks. They're playing at the University stadium in Chicago, a real big deal and I'd be on that field in my Dinkles and polyester, if it weren't for fucking Rosalie Hale and her goddamn tree. And I still haven't heard from Bella. What is the deal with these Hale sisters?

Maybe I should just ditch the game altogether.

Then I'd fail band. And I'm already failing Calculus. For reals, this time. I got my progress report yesterday, intercepted it before my parents could get the mail. A big fat fucking F. I guess ditching math to make out with your kinda slutty kinda girlfriend is a bad idea. Who knew?

Anyway, starting Monday, I'm being reassigned to Algebra, the world of mediocre underclassmen. Because I won't have enough credits to graduate if I fail Calculus. I won't be able to walk at graduation and would have to go to summer school in order to get my diploma. Blah, blah, blah, suck me off. I'm thinking about starting a ska band anyway. Currently, there's a huge void in this genre. Maybe I should start promoting my shitty one man ska band on Alice's reality show. I mean, there's gotta be a way to make this work to my advantage, right?

It's not until Friday morning that I realize I have no one to ride with into the city. Jake's at his mom's in Indy and Mike's riding with the band. Plus, there's that tiny fact that they both hate me right now. Ben's a lost cause, he's riding with Angela and Jessica. Yeah, that's not going to happen.

I wonder if I should call Bella. Text her or something, just to see what her plans are. That's the perfectly acceptable behavior of a concerned, close friend, right?

I find her number in my contacts. Type in a quick message. Then change said message a good twelve times before finding the perfect wording that conveys light humor, yet an air of uncertainty. So she'll respond, of course. Invitations like this aren't ever resolved in one or two lines of conversation. This could take at least a couple hours.

_Hey, big game coming up!_

There. That should incite some debate.

Just then, my phone buzzes in my hand. Scares the shit out of me, too.

_Yep! Do you want to ride with me?_

Shit. How can she be so straightforward like that? I don't know what to say. Of course I want to ride with her, but accepting so soon is setting a bad precedence for our entire relationship. If I accept, she'll think I don't have a life of my own, that I rely solely on her for social interaction. She'll be in control if I accept right away. Jake would not accept right away. Emmett would definitely not accept right away.

I send her a quick text to let her know how I feel.

_I'll pick you up at four. You like pizza, right?_

…

**A/N**:

I feel like you're the best readers in the whole world.

**Boo** prereads and **Lightstardusting** beta's. They're my perfect mix of rainbows and zombies.

Thank you for reading.


	10. All About U

CH 10 – All About U

…

I don't know what music to bring. Bella listens to dentist music and talk radio so I download a shitload of Celine Dion and put the NPR app on my phone. I also make sure to bring some Kanye, in case she likes rap and the new Mumford and Sons, if she's into that hipster shit. And Steve Miller Band. You can never go wrong with Steve Miller Band.

My mom asks if I'm going to be riding with them and you can't imagine the immense satisfaction I get when I tell her not a chance in the fiery depths of hell. I don't tell her who I'm riding with or why I don't need a ride and she doesn't ask. I guess she's still pissed because I "ruined" Thanksgiving. Whatever.

I'm a little nervous about picking Bella up at her house. What if her sister's there? Worse, what if her dad's there? I bet that dude thinks I'm the biggest asshole on the planet. Just because I used to kinda date his daughter. And now I'm kinda dating his other daughter.

Jesus, I _am_ the biggest asshole on the planet.

Turns out I don't need to worry about it. Bella's at my house before four. She walks up to the door, too. It took me an exorbitant amount of time to pick music so I'm just getting out of the shower when Alice lets her in.

I'm in the bathroom, trying to gel what little hair I have into a somewhat presentable coiffure, and I hear her voice. Her laughter harmonizes with Alice's shrieks and giggles. Like fucking school girls. Then I remember, they _are _school girls.

Shit, Bella's the same age as my _sister_.

At least she's a junior. Which technically only makes her a year younger than me. In school years, of course. This is okay, I guess. It's not like I could be arrested or anything.

I hope.

I quickly throw on a sweatshirt and my jeans and grab my heavy coat. It's going to be so cold out there tonight.

On second thought, I strip off the sweatshirt, fucking up my carefully gelled haphazard spikes and throw on a thermal too. I hope Bella bundled up. With her severe lack of body fat, she's liable to lapse into hypothermia from a slight breeze. I grab an extra sweatshirt. And then pull the quilt off my bed. Just in case.

I fix my hair, one last time, in my closet mirror and I catch a glimpse of a hooded figure with big eyeballs and giant, pointed teeth.

"Shit!" I gasp and Bella breaks into a grin that reaches all the way up to her dark eyes. Her navy sweatshirt is made to look like a monster. It's a monster hoodie.

"Alice said I could come on up," she says as she pulls down the hood. She marches into my bedroom. Without hesitation, mind you. Like there's zero chance of porn or dirty underwear lying on the floor. Obviously she doesn't have any brothers.

She's wearing a corduroy skirt and stockings. Fishnets. Like that's going to offer any protection from the elements. Luckily, she's also wearing knee socks and combat boots. She stops at my dresser to check out the boxed Star Wars action figures I have on display. She picks up Yoda, reads the back and then puts him back down while I do a quick scan for incriminating evidence of my disgustingness.

"You have a toy collection?" she asks. She's holding Princess Leia now. Jabba's slave Princess Leia. In the gold bikini. I'm not going to tell her what I think about when I hold Gold Bikini Princess Leia.

"They're not toys. Nobody plays with them," I respond and she smiles.

"I still collect Yu-Gi-Oh cards," she says. "And pogs. Do you remember pogs?"

"They still make pogs?"

"If you know where to look." She moves on to my book shelf. Which is mostly filled with role playing games; _D&D _and_ Pathfinder_. You know, the kind of thing you try to keep hidden until you die.

"Do you play these?" she smirks and I roll my eyes.

Please don't let her open my desk drawer. I have a collection of many sided dice.

I'm trying to think of a distraction when she notices my trumpet case next to my bed. She sits on my bed and opens the case and lightly touches the brass instrument.

"Can I blow your trumpet?" she asks in husky voice that makes me blush before I realize she's fucking with me. It's funny. She's funny and I want to be funny too, but I'm blank. Absolutely nothing.

"Uh, um, sure," I stutter and this just makes her laugh again. I sit down next to her and pick up the trumpet. I've already completely destroyed any street cred I may have accidentally accumulated. Might as well go for broke.

"I'm not used to pretty girls touching my trumpet," I say and she raises an eyebrow. The one with the metal bar through it. A whole minute passes. I'd imagine this is the part where I'm supposed to like, lean in and like, kiss her cheek or something.

"Oh God, Edward. That was horrible! Where's your imagination? You could have at least said something about how you blow your own trumpet all the time," she laughs. She's laughing at me.

I put the instrument to my lips and I blow. A slow, sad, _wha-wha-whaaaa._ I hold out the last note and her eyes are twinkling. When she laughs, it's like she's glowing.

I disconnect the mouthpiece and wipe it down with a microfiber cloth and she watches the whole time. Normally, this would be weird, being watched like this. But I figure she's already seen my blood and my puke. I guess she can see this too.

When I've snapped my case in place, I look up and she's still staring. I don't like it. So I stare back. She narrows her eyes and smirks and it's on. I haven't lost a staring contest since 2007, when Jake unceremoniously pinched my nipple as a distraction.

She smiles and stares and I think she might break for lack of conversation and general sense of awkwardness but she doesn't. I let my eyes glaze over because I'll be damned if I let her beat me this early in the game. How will she ever respect me if I let her beat me in a staring contest?

Finally, when my eyes begin to water and her neck has to be sore from craning up at me like that, she gasps, like she forgot something.

"What?" I ask and then I've gone and done it, I blink and her face lights up.

"Nothing. I just remembered I have like four episodes of _Workaholics _recorded. And we're having pizza tonight," she turns to leave. "Ready?"

"You're a cheater," I mutter and she just laughs.

"Nah, I'm just hungry. And forgetful. You want me to drive?" I grab my hat and gloves, the extra jacket, my big jacket and my quilt and follow her down the stairs and out the door.

"Nope," I say, my mouth muffled by all the linens and whatnot. I manage to unlock the trunk and throw all the shit in there, along with two camping chairs from the garage, but I keep my hat and gloves.

Bella grabs a backpack, a pair of earmuffs, a scarf and her big poofy jacket out of her truck and dumps them in my trunk. She keeps her earmuffs and scarf and then parks herself in my front seat. I thought maybe she'd argue about driving, but she doesn't say a word. Just wraps her scarf around her neck. Before I can put on my carefully selected music, she turns off the radio. I think she's planning on conversation for the duration of this trip.

We ride in silence towards the freeway. Bella's stares out the window and then snickers to herself, a muffled giggle out of nowhere.

"What?" I ask and she shakes her head.

"Nothing. I just thought of how I beat you in a staring contest using superb methods of distraction. Your nosiness is your downfall," she smirks.

"Your faith in your friends is yours," I say, in my best Emperor Palpatine voice and she laughs, loud and booming.

By the time we get to Lou Malnati's, I've explained every shit detail that is the Star Wars prequels. She hasn't even seen them, and there's a part of me that is completely envious of this. If only I could bleach my brain of that computer generated bullshit back story. If only.

We don't have to wait long for a table; it's still early. I order a Dr. Pepper and Bella gets an iced tea with extra lemon. She dumps about five sugar packets into the thing.

She folds the empty wrappers into tiny rectangles and then hooks them together, creating a chain out of white paper.

"Sometimes I use Sweet and Low, just to mix it up a bit," she says when she notices I'm watching her.

"You could always use Splenda, maybe an Equal or two?" I add and her eyes lighten.

"Once, I made a belt out of Starburst wrappers. Wrapped around my waist like twice."

"What was that, like five candies?" I smirk and she frowns. "I just meant, because your waist is so small. Like seriously, are you missing ribs?"

"You can't fight genetics," she shrugs. "I'm more concerned about how your heart gets blood all the way to your brain up there. Do you ever bend over, just to give it a break?"

"I do, in fact. Every twenty minutes," I say.

Just then the waitress stops by to take our order. Bella gets the chicken parmesan sandwich and I order a pepperoni deep dish.

"I didn't eat lunch," I mutter and Bella shrugs.

"I'm not the food police."

We wait for our food in silence and it's a little weird. I know eventually we're going to have to talk about things. Like how I used to make out with her sister. And she almost fucked my best friend. On many occasions, according to Jake. I'm dying to get it all out on the table but I'm also afraid of what she'll say. What if her version's worse? What if it's not just with Jake? What is she really is a freak in the sack?

Not that I'm complaining, really. I'm just, scared. And inexperienced. I just don't want to look like a loser.

_Too late_, my subconscious whispers. He's a dick.

At any rate, I guess now is not the time. Not on the first date. If this is a date. Which I'm not exactly sure it is.

Shit, what if this _isn't _a date? What if she just wanted company?

Maybe I should ask her?

_No, Edward, stop. Just let it be. _

Right. John always was the rational Beatle.

_That was Paul, you idiot._

See? Total asshole.

By the time our food arrives, I'm having an anxiety attack. Bella's on her third iced tea and her sugar packet chain is at least six inches long. Almost a belt.

I don't say that out loud, of course. Because I use my filters. Remind me to pat myself on the back later.

Bella picks off all the cheese and then wipes off most of the sauce. She shoves a couple fries into her sandwich and then covers it in Parmesan cheese.

"Why didn't you just order it dry?" I ask and she takes a huge bite of her concoction.

"Because I don't want it dry," she says, her mouth full of sandwich. She swallows and drinks her tea. "I like it better this way. What's the point in eating something I'm not completely happy with?"

She takes another bite and smiles, a little sauce on her cheek and it's fucking cute.

And she makes a valid point.

I choose a slice of my pie, and I cut off the crust. Because I don't really like the crust.

"Can I have that?" she asks and I nod. "The crust is my favorite part."

"It's like we're made for each other then," I say as she reaches for the saucy bread. She tilts her head, her front teeth pressing into her bottom lip. There's a gap in her two front teeth. I like it.

"From a pizza perspective, of course." I take a huge bite of my crustless pizza.

"Of course," she grins and then devours her sandwich. I like watching her eat. She eats like every bite of her sandwich is the best bite ever.

Bella eats her entire sandwich and two of my crusts. I don't know how that's even possible. I try to keep up, but by the time the bill comes, I'm at max capacity. I put my dad's credit card in the billfold and Bella hands me a twenty. I shake my head.

"No way, you drove," she says. It's true, gas ain't cheap. But a true gentleman treats a lady, simply for the pleasure of her company. My mom taught me that. I shake my head again.

"I guess our waitress is getting a sweet tip, then." I leave her money on the table.

"She really was a great waitress. My glass wasn't empty once," she says. She has to be kidding. She is not going to leave that lady a twenty dollar tip.

The waitress brings me back the card and I sign and leave a perfectly acceptable tip. I stand and grab my coat. She does the same and pulls her bag over her shoulder. She waits for me, her hands in her back pockets, a challenge in her dark eyes.

"Look, you can get next," I say and her eyebrow goes up. "Next time, you can buy."

"Can I?" she smirks.

"If you want," I say and pick up her cash. I hold it out to her and she takes it, slowly, her fingers sliding against mine in the gentlest of touches. It's warm, spreading up my arm like wild fire. I expect it to last only a millisecond but she holds her hand there.

"Next time," she reaffirms before releasing me. She turns and is out the door before I can gather my wits. The money's gone and my hand is cold.

She stands by my car waiting, shifting her stick-legs, her weight moving from one clunky boot to the other.

I unlock her door and open it for her and she smiles and takes her seat. This is most definitely a date.

It's a quick drive to the stadium. I park and grab all my stuff from the trunk. Bella takes the blanket and then holds up my extra jacket.

"Do you need this?" she asks and I don't know. I legitimately don't know. What if she gets cold later? It's barely dark and her legs are really skinny.

"Um, maybe," I say and she tucks it under her arm. I take the blanket from her arms and surprisingly, she lets me. I like that, that she lets me.

There's all kinds of people tailgating in the parking lot. I'm pretty sure my parents are here somewhere but I have no desire to find them. Alice was going to come, but it's just too cold and uncomfortable. I wonder if Jake drove down from Indy with his mom. He's probably sitting with Lauren and Emmett and Rosalie. Fucking traitor.

Like I should talk. Bella's rainbow hair bounces in front of me.

"Hey, how do you get your hair like that? All the colors only in certain spots?" I ask and she whips her head around.

"It's quite the ordeal," she says. "Maybe I'll let you watch some time."

She exaggerates a wink and I have to laugh. She may be funnier than me. Maybe.

I have to sit with the band and I pull Bella along with me. Mr. Cullen will be cool with it. He said my family could come sit with me if they wanted, but I vetoed that proposition right away. I just don't know if I could sit through a whole football game with my mom flirting with my band teacher.

Mr. Cullen's down in the front of the huge field and I see Mike sitting up with the ensemble. He watches me the whole way down the steps. No, not watching. He's glaring at me. I try to ignore him but then Bella waves at him and he waves back.

I give her a look, because _really, __whose side is she on?_ She just throws it right back.

"What? I'm not the one who was a dick to him," she says and I look back up at him. He's ignoring me now, focused on his bells and shit. "You know, you could just say sorry. He'd probably forgive you."

It's true. Mike doesn't hold grudges and he accepts people for who they are, mistakes and all. He's the best person I know. But he seems truly happy now, with his new friends and his new life. He doesn't need me. He doesn't even miss me.

We find Mr. Cullen and he's talking to Riley, going over a few last logistics. I find a spot down on the field, directly below the band and next to Cullen's folding chair. I set up our seats. Bella plops down in her chair and her feet don't even touch the ground.

"Do you need a step stool?" I say and she flips me off but she's laughing. She pulls her legs up underneath her and puts on her earmuffs. I wrap the blanket around her shoulders and all I can see of her is her face.

"This is going to make me claustrophobic," she says, her arms bound inside the quilt.

"But you look so adorable. Like a prairie dog." I laugh and she breaks her arms free from the cocoon.

Cullen makes his way down to the field. He's decked out in Riverside High colors, blue and white. He's wearing a cap and his Riverside High windbreaker and I can see his tie and collared shirt underneath. Look at that school spirit. Go Bulldogs!

"Edward, just the man I was looking for. Can you do me a favor? I hate to ask this of you, but I left some sheet music in my car. I'm parked right through the locker room, behind the stadium in the preferred parking." He hands me his keys and I stare at the silver circular emblem. How can Mr. Cullen afford a Benz on a teacher's salary?

I look at Bella and she's already throwing off her serape. She stands and grabs my hand.

"No problem, Mr. Cullen. We'll be right back." Her eyes are sparked with mischief and I have no idea what's going through her head. I just hope it's not illegal.

She pulls me into the locker room and she's bold as fuck. Just saunters into the room like she owns the place. Thank God most of these dudes are already dressed.

"Bella!" Tyler shouts and then waves. Bella drops my hand and gives him a hug.

"Hey! Good luck tonight!" Jesus, is she friends with everyone? Why wasn't she friends with me?

"Thanks girl," he says and she kisses his cheek. Which makes me fume. She never kisses my cheek.

Tyler gives me a nod and I return the gesture. Bella grabs my arm and pulls me out the back door. How does she even know where the door is? Has she been in this locker room before?

We walk outside and there's a hundred cars. I have no idea which one is Mr. Cullen's. This is ridiculous. Before I can freak out, Bella grabs the key from my hand and she just starts pushing buttons. She holds the key above her head but it's not very effective.

"Do you want me to try?" I ask and she rolls her eyes but there's a smile on her face.

Suddenly, there's a loud horn and lights are flashing. Bella looks elated. We both jog over to the black two-door sports car and she quickly turns off the alarm. Holy shit! Mr. Cullen drives a SL 500! Where did Cullen get the cash for this shit? Drug trafficking?

"See? I don't need a man. Or person of reasonable height," she says and then she's climbing in the driver's seat.

"What are you doing?" I ask and she grins.

"I'm getting the sheet music," she says and she puts the key in the ignition. Slams her door shut.

"Bella. Bella, stop," I panic and again, there's the devil in her grin. She rolls down the window.

"Get in," she says and I look around.

"Bella," I say and she's putting the car in drive. "Bella!"

Instead of responding, she starts to slowly back up. I can't let her just drive off. I throw open the passenger door and jump inside. She laughs and peels out in the gravel.

"Shit, you're stealing our teacher's car," I gasp. My heart is pounding and I feel like I just ran a marathon. Or a mile, at least.

"He's not my teacher," she laughs and then fiddles with the stereo. Queen blasts through the speakers and Bella yelps.

"Nice choice, Mr. Cullen. I'm impressed." She turns up the volume and sings along. _We are the champions of the world!_

"Come on, Edward. Sing! I know you know the words," she yells. She's speeding around the parking lot, drifting corners like this is the test track on _Top Gear_. It's really impressive, actually. The way she's handling that stick. It'd also be kind of hot, if my stomach weren't in turmoil. Equal parts sexy and vomit inducing.

"I don't know the words," I mumble and hold the handle above my head.

"Liar!" She speeds around a curve and practically takes out some pedestrians in the process. "We're not getting out of this car until you sing."

I look at her and she's silently mouthing the words. If she thinks that's persuasive, she's delusional.

I sigh. There's only a few verses left. I know the words. I mean, who doesn't?

I mumble along with the music and the minute I do, she lowers the volume. I stop, and glare at her. She's listens, expecting.

"Let it out," she urges. Like a siren. She's impossible to resist.

So I yell. At the top of my lungs. And she laughs and hollers and my heart's in my throat. I'm out of air but it feels amazing to hear Bella laugh like that.

She pulls into a parking spot. Not the same one where we found the car, mind you. And she screeches to a halt. She's breathless and flushed and just so completely alive. I don't think I've ever felt the way she looks. Pure luminescence.

"There. That wasn't so bad." She shrugs and her hair's in her face, a long blue curl right in front of her cheek.

"It was awful, actually," I say and I want to move her hair but I'm kind of afraid to touch her. What if she doesn't approve? What if she smacks my hand out of the way?

Before I can make the decision, she pushes it behind her ear and she's staring at me, beaming, shining. She shifts in the seat, turning toward me and she leans closer. Breathes closer. Her eyes touch every inch of my face and then, as if she can't decide if she should, her hand slides around the back of my neck and she raises her lips to mine.

It's a flood. In my head. In my chest. In my pants. Everything overflows. She kisses me, breathes into me, her fingers run over the scarred skin on the back of my head. It's the best kiss I've ever had in my entire life. Like she really means it. Like there's nowhere else she'd rather be. And there's no one else she'd rather be with. It makes me want to cry, it's so beautiful.

And then it's over. She pulls away and hops out of the car, waiting for me to follow. And I do. Because at this point, I'd follow her to hell and back. All because of that one kiss.

Pure energy, it can't be created. It can't be destroyed. And Bella is pure energy. I want to stand next to her all the time, so I can always feel it.

I can't always stand next to her, of course. Because that would be creepy. But right now, I can feel her energy all I want. Because she's holding my hand and she might kiss me again tonight.

Most definitely a date.

We get back to our seats and Cullen is going crazy waiting for the sheet music. Luckily, it isn't needed until half-time.

"We had a hard time finding your car," Bella says and then hands him the key and the music. I'm so glad she remembered. And I'm embarrassed one kiss can make me act such a fool. Hopefully, she won't notice.

"Sorry, I should have given you more specific instructions." Mr. Cullen climbs the bleachers, handing the music to Riley up on the podium.

Bella plops down in her chair and wraps the blanket around her shoulders. I wish we could sit closer. And maybe kiss again.

We don't. But I have no idea what happens during that game. Every time Bella leans to the left and grabs my arm, I think about her hand grazing over my scar and all focus is gone. I don't even know if we win. All I can remember is that Bella's lips are soft, much more gentle than Rosalie, yet more hesitant, more reverence. If Rosalie devours, Bella savors.

I don't see any of my friends again, not even Mike. I do see my mom, however. She's decked out in her skinny jeans and parka, waving to me from the stadium.

"Edward!" she shouts and Mr. Cullen's ears prick. He pretends to look busy, gathering his shit, putting things into his briefcase. Play on, player, play on.

I pretend not to hear her and try to think of something to talk to Bella about, so I can look engaged in conversation, but Bella heard my mom as well.

Bella waves to her and smiles and then looks at me. "There's your mom," she says and I close my eyes and nod and mentally prepare to deal with the woman.

She makes her way down to the field and she keeps looking over my shoulder, right at Mr. Cullen who is also pretending not to stare. Oh, get a room already.

"Hi honey! Great game, huh?" I'm pretty sure my mom could give two shits about football.

"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention," I say and Bella nudges my foot with hers. I don't know if it was on purpose.

"I didn't know you had a date," my mom says, this twinkling gleam in her eye.

"Oh, we're just friends," Bella says and my stomach literally drops into my trendy high top sneakers. What the hell does she mean, friends? Does she kiss all her friends?

Well, she's kissed Tyler. And Jake. And Mike.

Shit.

Does she think I'm gay?

So definitely not a date then. Well, that pretty much sucks.

"We're heading over to Lou Malnati's for some pizza. Are you hungry?" my mom asks and I roll my eyes. I'm about to act like a five year old but Bella interrupts.

"We ate there earlier! I wish we would have known, we could have waited," she says and my mom looks weird. Is that...yep, I think that's disappointment.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think…" my mom trails off and it's like it clicks in her head. Yeah, mom, when it comes to me you don't really think...ever.

"It's okay. Next time," Bella says confidently and it's a command. My mom gets it, too. She nods, sheepishly. Holy shit, Bella's the parent whisperer.

"Well, you kids have fun," my mom says. She's staring at Mr. Cullen, willing him to notice her. I'm sure he does, but he's acting shy. Or playing hard to get. Whatever, it's working because my mom looks utterly disappointed.

Just as she's walking away, Bella gets a text from her friend, the giggler. Her name is Victoria, actually. Her dickhead boyfriend is having a party at his house. James and Victoria both go to Kennedy. I've never been to a Kennedy party before.

"So do you want to go?" Bella asks and I want to say no. Bella said this wasn't a date. And I'm trying like hell to not care, but it's eating at me like spit on a pixie stick.

Besides, I'm sure these people know my sister. I'm sure they've seen her camera crew and shit and I just don't have the filters in place to deal with them right now.

I shrug, and she smiles. She knows I'm hesitant. I'm pretty sure she knows why. But she doesn't ask again. Just waits.

I don't want this night to be over. What if I make her laugh again? Or kiss me?

"Why not?" I give and she's quickly sending a text.

There's a ton of reasons why I shouldn't go to this party.

"Let's go, then," Bella says as she gathers the quilt under her arm. I get the chairs and then her fingers lace with mine.

Then again, there's one reason I should.

…

**A/N**:

Is anyone else devastated by Heidi Klum and Seal's separation?

**Boo** prereads and **LightStarDusting** beta's. They restore my faith in true love on a daily basis.

Thank you for pimpage and for comments and for reading!


	11. All Out

CH 11 – All Out

…

"You know Steve Miller, but you don't know Otis?" Bella says as The Joker plays over the speakers. "How can you play the trumpet and not know Otis? That should be illegal."

"I prefer the ska persuasion to jazz, thank you very much." She blinks. "You know, Reel Big Fish?"

That's the most mainstream ska band I know. They only get more elusive from there.

"The Specials?" She shakes her head, scratches her wrist.

"Madness? You have to know Madness. Anyone who's ever been to a skating rink knows Madness."

"Ah yes, Madness I know. But only because they're on one of my dentist music mixes," she snarks.

"I bet you ordered that mix off an infomercial." She snorts and I nod. Yep, she's an infomercial shopper.

"Actually, my sister made it for me. She loves 80's music."

"I wouldn't really know. We never really talked about music," I mutter and she nods.

"Yeah, she's not one for disclosing information." Bella plays with the vent, pushes it to the right, away from her.

"Are you hot?" I ask.

"You didn't sleep with her. I can tell," Bella answers. She's picking at her electric blue nail polish.

"How can you tell?" I ask. I don't really want to talk about this but now I'm curious. Did Rosalie say something about me?

"The way you talk about her. Like you're confused. Ashamed even. You didn't, did you?" I almost want to lie because I hate that she can tell.

I just shake my head no and she relaxes into her seat.

"So are you a virgin, then?" she asks next and I'm not sure what to say.

Like, literally, I don't know.

"Ugh, see, that's kind of a tricky question. Does it count if you can't remember?" I ask and her calculating eyes are back.

"Jessica?" she asks and I nod. "You honestly can't remember?"

"I remember doing a lot of stuff that night, none of it was actual sex. I passed out in Mike's room and woke up in my underwear. Jess was so pissed at me. She wouldn't be pissed at me for _not _sleeping with her, would she?"

"Depends. How much did she like you?" Bella's eyes are fixated on me now and I liked it better when she was focused on her nail polish.

"She's like my sister. I've know her forever. How much _can _you like someone you've known forever?" It's Bella's turn to shrug and she's not looking at me now. She stares out the window instead.

We get to Casa de James and he lives right down the street from Ben. Huh. I wonder if anyone from Riverside will be at this party.

Big shocker, Kennedy parties look just like Riverside parties. The faces are different, but I'd recognize that foul stench anywhere: raging hormones and self-entitlement. And tequila. I can definitely smell tequila.

Suddenly, this fiery red demon attacks Bella and knocks her to the floor. She laughs, and whom I presume to be the Giggler is, well, giggling. They're hugging and rolling around in a heaving mass of fishnet stockings and multicolored hair.

"You came!" Victoria screeches and my filter is straining. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to retort with a "that's what she said."

Bella recovers and bounces to her feet. She's flushed, her hair like one of those Tesla coil things, all buzz and static.

"I always come," Bella says and I can't help it, I snort and Bella gives me that psychic voodoo look she has. "Sometimes I come twice."

Victoria laughs like a hyena and I just shake my head. Goddamn it, she _is _funnier than me.

"Vic, you remember Edward, right?" Bella says and nods in my general vicinity. Vic's eyes are huge. I can call her Vic. Bella did.

"Oh my God, yes. I thought you were dead. Oh my God, everyone thinks you're dead. But you're not. You're like, here. At my party. Oh my God."

Bella's snorting and shaking, her hand covering her mouth. I guess Bella hasn't been talking about me much.

"Oh, no. I am dead. I'm haunting Bella here, because it was her tree I fell out of." Now Vickiekins looks perplexed. She must be on pills or something.

"Well, ghost of Edward past, then you definitely need to meet some of my people. I've never had a dead person at my party before."

"You mean, this isn't a Dead Man's Party? Because I couldn't ask for anything more than a Dead Man's Party," I blurt and now Vicalicious looks like she's smelling something very, very bad. Could be my jokes. I'm going to go with her own upper lip.

"Just leave your body at the door, then," Bella says and I grin profusely. I love it when she gets my jokes. "Come on, I need a drink."

We walk through the house and I quickly notice no one here is drinking beer. There's alcohol, hard liquor but no Coors, no Bud Light. No cans even. Their drinks are in cups. The easier it is to drug you, my dear.

Bella fills her cup with what looks like pink lemonade from this huge beverage container on the counter. She sips and then rifles through the drawers until she finds a straw.

"What's that?" I ask and point to her drink.

"Skipper," she says. Her lips pinch over the straw and her cheeks pucker.

"What's in it?" I ask and she scrunches up her face as she swallows.

"If I told you, you wouldn't drink it." She hands me the cup and I warily sniff the pink stuff. "I don't think it will kill you."

I roll my eyes and take a sip and lemony syrup coats my throat. I literally choke on the sweetness. I don't even think there's any alcohol in this.

"Is this alcoholic?" I cough and she nods.

"Very."

"It tastes like a popsicle. But one that melted and then refroze in the freezer. You know what I mean, right?" I say and then take another drink. It's bad, so, so bad.

"I know exactly what you mean," Bella laughs and then fills a second cup, for herself I guess because I've commandeered the first.

Like a pirate. A Skipper pirate.

Bella pulls me into the den, and there's a bunch of people playing beer pong. Only they're not drinking beer, they're drinking this mysteriously delightful Skipper. Victoria's back and she lights up when she sees me.

"This is him!" she shouts and grabs my arm. She pulls me over to who I'm assuming is her boyfriend. Why would I make that assumption, you ask? Well, his hand is on her ass and they're making out; they're totally sucking face and she's still holding my arm. I look back at Bella and she's just laughing up a storm. Like a little snickering munchkin.

"You Masen?" he asks. The dude's wearing tight white polyester pants and I can't stop staring. It's like a train wreck. You can see his whole business. Why would he think that's a good idea?

"Um, yes. Edward Anthony Masen the third, actually," and then I laugh. A real pompous laugh that is going to be unappreciated. Yep, he doesn't even crack a smile.

"You do pills?" he asks and I don't know what to say. I have taken pills at various point in my life, yes.

"Not habitually," I answer and this dude just stares. Like Al Pacino. Did I unknowingly wander into a scene from Scarface?

"You're a smart ass. That's cool," he says and I want to get the hell out of this room. Before they make me their drug mule.

"Jamesie, he's that guy who fell out the tree. Remember, he almost died." Huh, I thought for sure they'd know me as Alice's brother. I look back at Bella and she's talking to some preppy dude, straightening his tie. Apparently he thought this was a dinner party.

"Yeah, that's rough, man. Real rough." Jamesie unfolds this foil packet and holds out a pill, a tiny skull and crossbones etched into the pressed white tab. Yeah, that looks safe.

"Let's roll, Edward." Victoria temps as she nestles onto Jamsie's lap. He puts one on her tongue and he's holding them out to me. Every drug cartel movie I've ever seen is telling me I shouldn't take this pill. I may end up in a ditch somewhere.

"You know, I'd love to, but um, I'm already pretty fucked in the head."

"Oh, right. Cool, cool. For later then." He winks at me. He thinks I'm already high and possibly attractive. He shoves the foil wrapped tablet into my pants pocket. Because having some dude's hand down my pants was definitely on my bucket list.

"Edward!" Bella's tugs on my arm and pulls me away from Jamsie and his Giggler. "Come play with me."

She grips my fingers and pulls me into yet another sitting room. A whole room dedicated just to sitting. In place of a coffee table, there's a Twister mat spread out on the floor. Bella bends over and sets her drink on the floor. Then she's unlacing her boots. And I'm on the verge of a panic attack. I know it's lame, but I have a phobia of feet, an honest-to-God-they-make-me-sick phobia.

"Take off your shoes," she says.

"I don't want to." I sound like an infant. I don't care.

"Why not?" she demands, her hands on her hips.

"Because I don't like feet."

"What?" she asks, like she couldn't hear me properly. She probably couldn't, not with Coldplay whining on the stereo. Oh, poor me, I have a billion dollars because girls like to hear me cry about how everyone misunderstands my genius.

"I don't like feet!" I shout and she grins.

"We can keep our socks on. It'll be like an added challenge. Extreme Twister!" She takes off her hoodie and she has on this tiny t-shirt with Transformers on it. I think she shops in the kid's section. She pulls her hair into a ponytail and then stands there, waiting.

"Ugh, come on! It's an excellent exercise in ninja focus," she urges and I sigh. I'm going to play this game. At least my limbs can span the distance with ease. My height could be an advantage here.

"Alright, but I'm warning you. I take no responsibility for any injuries incurred by any flailing body parts. I could seriously hurt you." She takes my cup and puts it on the floor next to hers.

"You won't hurt me. I won't let you." Bella removes her necklace and then the hundreds of silver clanky bracelets on her wrist.

"Oh no? What about when you have to suffer the pain of defeat?" I say as I kick off my shoes and take off my sweatshirt. I'm going to need full mobility for this.

"I think you are severely underestimating my flexibility," she says as she gets the spinner. " And I have excellent balance. It's one of the benefits of a low center of gravity."

"Yes but you drank more than me. Balance could be an issue," I smirk.

"Ninja focus," she says again and then hands the spinner to this chick sitting on the couch. It's Kate, one of the Denali sisters that Jake hooked up with. "Can you be our spinner?"

Kate grins then opens her eyes wide when she sees me. Shit.

"Hey Edward," she smiles, all shy-like. Oh Jesus, not her too. What is it about a near death experience that makes a person so attractive?

She spins the spinner and it lands on _left hand yellow_. I put my hand down on yellow and there's a tweak in my shoulder. Yeah, I forgot about that. This is going to end badly.

"See? It's easy," Bella says and Kate's snickering behind her.

"Yep, just like you," Kate snarks and I think Bella's going to be pissed but she just looks up at me and laughs.

"Right foot, yellow." And we move into the appropriate spaces, the plastic crinkling under our socked feet. Bella's socks are striped. Mine are argyle. I'm just glad they don't have a hole in them.

"Right hand, green." The green row is right by the yellow row so we both just crouch. Well, she crouches. I'm more hunched. Like a gargoyle.

"Left foot, red." Red is all the way on the opposite side of the mat. There's no way her leg is going to stretch all the way over there. She's strains, the tip of her toe on the red dot.

"Ninja focus," she murmurs as she reaches for her drink on the floor. She's trying to break my concentration with superb wit. It's working.

We continue playing and I end up hovering over her like a cage. She's twisted up underneath me and my shoulder is throbbing.

"She's looking at your ass, you know. She can probably see your chonies," Bella says. She's breathing hard and I can't figure out how she got her leg up by her ear like that. She's incredibly bendy. Seriously, she should be a gymnast. And she has a tattoo on her side, near her hip. I can't figure out what it is, but her underwear are lime green.

And she smells like lavender. It's nice.

"My what?" I ask and then Kate calls out the next destination.

"Left hand, red." Oh thank God. I inch my fingers toward the red and now Bella's arm is threaded under her leg. Her face is pressed against the floor, her fingers right next to my foot.

"Well, isn't this adorable." My shoulder gives out and I unsuccessfully try to dodge any part of Bella. The sheer force alone would snap her like a twig.

She just laughs though, squirming out from under me and staring up at her big sister.

I see her shoes first, black and white heels and thigh high stockings. With garters. I only know because I can see up her skirt.

"Hey Rosie! You made it," Bella gets off the floor and picks up my drink from the floor. Because hers is gone. "James made Skipper."

"Obviously," she says and then her eyes shift down to me.

I stand up and there's a wall of rippling muscle behind her. Emmett.

"So, this is nice," I say. Rose gives Emmett a nudge he sticks out his hand.

"Hey Edward," he says and I shake his monstrous hand. He squeezes, crushing my fingers in an agonizing grip.

"How are you, Edward?" Rosalie asks. She drags out the words like I can't understand her. Like I have brain damage or something.

"Didn't you hear? I'm dead," I say and Bella snorts.

"Yeah, he's haunting me," Bella adds and Rose's lips are pursed, her eyes narrow.

"That's creepy," Rose says and Bella shrugs.

"We only fear that which we do not understand," Bella murmurs and now Rose is pissed. I don't think she likes it when she doesn't understand things.

"You know what I mean," Rose quips and Bella holds out my cup.

"Do you want a drink of Edward's Skipper?" Bella laughs and Emmett just walks away. "What? We can share! Just one big happy family, right?"

Rose holds her composure and gives her sister a kiss. "See you, sis," she says and her heels clackity clack as she walks away.

Bella stands there in her Decepticon t-shirt and her messy ponytail. She fixes her hair and she beats herself up, pulling out the rubber band and yanking it back again. She drops her hands and her shoulders slouch.

I hate seeing her so extinguished. Drained. Defeated.

So I bend over and pull down her sock. Even if she gets mad, at least it's something.

She scoffs so I pull down the other one. She stands there, her knee socks bunched around her ankles for a full thirty seconds and then she throws herself at my foot, trying to get my sock off. She's touching my feet!

"No, no, no, not the feet!" I plead and try to pry her off my ankles but she's really strong, like a little ball of fury and she's holding on tight. She swings her legs around my ankle and she's sitting on my foot.

"Walk," she demands and squeezes my calf with her arms. This wouldn't be so weird is she weren't wearing a skirt. With fishnets. I mean, her ass is on my foot.

It's kind of hot. Like really hot. When I think about where my foot is right now. Holy shit, she's fucking turning me on. With her ass. Shit, shit, shit!

"I need to go to the bathroom," I stutter and she won't let go. "Seriously, Bella, get off."

Bad choice of words, Edward.

Bella doesn't say anything, just disengages herself and then pulls up her socks. I race out of the room, looking for the bathroom. The two downstairs are occupied so I head upstairs and find one empty. I lock the door and splash my face with water. I try to pee, but I don't really have to go. I try to think of the most asexual thing on the planet. Which used to be feet but that isn't working anymore. So I flip through _Good Housekeeping_ while I wait for my semi to go away.

When I'm good and deflated, I go looking for Bella. I search the rooms, check outside and get another glass of Skipper.

"I know who you are," this tall chick says behind me and I almost spill my punch. "Alice Masen. She's your sister."

"Yeap-" I was going to say yeah and yep and managed to smush them into one word.

"Didn't you fall out of a tree or something. And now you're all...completely fucked," she says. Well, don't sugarcoat it or anything. "That's so totally hot."

"Yeah, my fan club line starts over there," I say and point into the distance, hoping she takes off.

She laughs, plays with her hair. Then trails her finger down my arm. I try to get around her but she's pinning me in the corner. Stranger Danger!

"Bella's in the basement. She told me to tell you," she says, then wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Drugs are hot.

I grab Bella a cup of Skipper and head down to the basement. James' basement has been finished like his own little apartment. He has a room with a television and a mini fridge and then there's his bedroom and a bathroom. Bella's on this huge bean bag in James' bedroom, laying there staring at these yellow plastic stars stuck all over the ceiling. Her knees are pressed together and her boots and sweatshirt and thirty pounds of accessories are back.

"Nice sack," I say and she smiles when she sees me, my sneakers in her lap. She holds them out to me.

"Thanks," I say and hand her one of the cups.

"Ditto," she responds and she chugs the thing and it's gone in seconds.

"I brought you a straw, but whatever," I say and she throws the cup to the floor. She flops back onto the bean bag and I put my drink down on the dresser and hit the light switch. The room glows and Bella laughs.

"What?" I ask and she motions for me to lay down next to her. So I do. Because I really want to.

I take up way more space on the bag than she does but she fits right in. She's warm and smells good and I can feel her breathing. Her chest presses against my bad arm. But it's okay. I like the pressure there.

"Look up," she says and I obey. On the ceiling is a huge cock. Made out of glow in the dark stars.

"That's one hell of a constellation," I laugh and she leans her head against my shoulder.

"He must have been born in the sign of fellatio," she smirks and I laugh. I appreciate a good vocabulary.

It's quiet for awhile and we just lay there, staring at the huge starry dick.

"Sorry about Rose," Bella murmurs and I shrug. "I thought she'd be nice. She's always nice."

"That she is," I say and Bella wraps her hands around herself. Her fingers twist in my thermal shirt. I think I left my sweatshirt upstairs.

"She lays her clothes out. Every night before she goes to sleep, she picks out what she wants to wear and lays them out. She does these positive affirmations, in the mirror in the morning. So she can be brave. And confident. And nice. She's not bad, you know. I know my sister's not bad. And I know it's not her fault, that she's smart and beautiful and charming. I should be happy for her." This could be the Skipper talking.

She inches closer and her hip presses against the little foil packet inside my pocket. It scratches through the cloth and pricks my thigh. I totally forgot about that pill. I reach between us, Bella makes space and I pull out the foil square.

"A gift from James," I say and she frowns. "I wasn't going to take it."

"Why not?" she asks. Not the response I was expecting.

"Because it's illegal. And I could die, or worse, fuck someone I never in million years would want to fuck," I say and she smiles and then chews her lip. She wants to laugh, I know it.

"Those are good reasons," she says and I feel smug. She takes the foil square and puts it back in my pocket. "Although, not everything that's illegal is _bad_, you know?"

"Yeah, but prison, prison's bad. I would not fair well in prison," I say and she nods. "Although, it would be extremely satisfying to see the look on my dad's face when he bails me out. And he will bail me out, I'm sure of it. He wouldn't want to look like a dick on television."

"Why didn't you go to Kennedy with your sister?" she asks. Because my parents hate me.

No, too soon for that conversation.

"Band. Riverside has a killer marching band, I don't know if you've heard."

"Right. Band." There they are, her psychic, vigilant, voodoo eyes.

"Why didn't _you _go to Kennedy? All your friends go there, you could have been free from your sister's shadow-"

"I'm not in her shadow," she interrupts. "My shadow's just not as tall as hers."

"Well, mine is. I could put you on my shoulders," I offer and she turns her face and she looks at me. She sees me and then she kisses me. Again. Twice in one day.

This is _so _a date. I don't care what she says.

Bella smiles and her eyelashes flit like moth wings. Her eyes move to the dick above and then she's asleep. I could probably drive home but I don't want to leave her. The basement is quiet, the party's still thudding along upstairs but I don't want to leave her. I could go find her sister, or Victoria, and I'm sure she'd be fine.

But I don't want to leave her.

So I slide my arm under her head and she molds to my side, her hand on my chest. Right over my heart. And we sleep, right there on James' sack.

Bella wakes up before I do and she jabs at my face with her finger until I'm awake too.

"How do you get Lady Gaga to wake up?" She whispers close, her finger wiggling my cheek, and I push her hand away. "Poke her face. Get it, poker face?"

I shake my head pathetically and she smiles, obviously proud of that one.

"That was funny. You can laugh, it's okay," and I nod in agreement because it was funny. She gets up and I stretch. My shoulder's sore as hell. I give it a couple stretches, swing it around. I'm definitely going to need some Ibuprofen.

Bella reads my mind. She searches James' medicine cabinet in his bathroom. I can hear the bottle clattering in the sink. I look over at the bed, but whoever is in it is dead to the world.

"You want?" she asks and holds the bottle out to me. She thinks I'm hungover too. "Can you drive? I have to go home."

"I'm fine," I say and we step over a dozen kids sleeping on the floor in the basement. Thank God we reserved our bean bag ahead of time.

It's cold and I blast the heater but Bella keeps turning it down. I play the music mix I made and she sings along with Celine Dion, so I mentally pat myself on the back. Or fist-bump myself, I guess. That's what the cool kids are doing now, right?

"_I'm everything I am because you loved me," _Bella sings. She has a really nice voice.

Why isn't this a date?

I mean, we slept together. She rested her head upon my heart, for Christ's sake.

Stop it. Just be cool. Let it be.

Yeah, not going to happen. Here comes the word vomit.

"This isn't a date," I blurt and she raises her eyebrow. I think that piercing's there just so she can do that eyebrow thing. I wish I could raise only one eyebrow.

"No…" she trails off, like she's confused.

"Why not?" I ask and now she really _is_ confused.

"Because you didn't ask me on a date," she says.

"But you kissed me. Twice. Why did you do that?" Oh God, it won't stop. The words just won't stop.

"I wanted to kiss you. So I kissed you," she shrugs. Like this explains everything.

"Do you always just do whatever you want?" I ask.

"Why would I do something I _didn't _want to do?" she retorts.

It's silent in my car, a Canadian falsetto filling the space, all the way until I park in my driveway.

"You wanted this to be a date," she says. It sounds like an accusation. I feel the need to defend myself.

"I don't know, maybe. I like you. You're really fun and you have a nice laugh. And a lovely singing voice. And you're very flexible." She grins and then her fingers lightly graze my hand resting on the console between us.

"I like you too," she says and then she kisses my cheek. But now I know this doesn't mean anything. She unbuckles and I pop the trunk. The conversation is over.

She grabs her shit from the trunk and I help her carry it to her truck. She throws it in the back and then gives me a hug. Her arms wrap around my middle, her head rests just below my chest. God, she really is a munchkin, like one of the lollipop guild.

I hope she remembers to bring that stuff in. It's probably going to snow today.

Maybe I'll text her later.

…

**A/N: **

Happy Super Bowl Sunday! I'm so relieved both teams have similar color palettes. I look really good in blue.

Oh readers, you are spectacular. I so love reading your comments. Let's all meet for coffee, yes, yes?

**Boo** prereads even when Skins is fucking up our lives. And **Lightstardusting **beta's and motivates me to get my ass in gear. Did you hear she's running a half-marathon? She's a fucking super hero!


	12. Life Goes On

CH 12 – Life Goes On

…

"Edward Anthony Masen, open this door right now!" My mom rattles the thin slab of particle board between us.

Shit. Shit. Shit. All I wanted was some cereal. And now I'm locked in the bathroom avoiding the inquisition. I bet Alice is out there right now, whispering into my mother's ear about how I deserve to be crucified. Fucking Judas. Like she never accidentally left amphetamines in her jeans and then put them in the wash, only to have a foil wrapped pill plop out onto our mother's lap.

Let me rewind.

After I spent the night with Bella on the bean bag in James' basement, I came home and went straight up to my room. Which would have been fine. No one even noticed I came in the door. It wasn't until my darling sister found out I had been hob-knobbing round her old stomping grounds that the gloves came off.

"Why would you go to a Kennedy party? Do you know what they do at those parties?" Alice says while I stuff my face with Captain Crunch. Minus the Crunch Berries. Alice has been having cravings.

"They're just like Riverside parties. What's the big deal?"

"James is the biggest dope dealer at my school, Mom." She's not even really talking to me. These theatrics are for my mom. And the rest of the reality show audience. I imagine they'll bleep out his name. I wonder how many bleeps I can get into one conversation. Sounds like my new goal in life.

My mom just stares at me like I betrayed her or something.

"Is this true, Edward? Were there drugs at this party?" She blinks into one of the monstrous lenses capturing this whole debacle on film and I chew with my mouth open. I crunch as loud as I can possibly can. I hope it's offending my sister.

"Yep, fucking drugs everywhere, Mom. Narcotics up to our goddamn ears." Bleep, bleep. "They had these tiny fucking syringes and shit on serving platters. Oh and a community bong, right there on the fucking kitchen table." Bleep, bleep, bleep.

"Edward, this is serious."

"Yeah, Mom. I'm on drugs. Is that what you want to hear? That's why I'm fucked up right now? Because I'm prostituting myself for dope? Jesus Christ, I'm just going out and having fun. Is that such a crime?" I think about running out of the room crying, to solidify my Golden Globe nomination, but then decide to save that for when Alice goes into labor.

"I'm making you an appointment with Dr. Caius. I don't know what is going on with you lately, but you are not allowed to speak to me this way. Now, you tell me the truth. Are you on drugs?"

"God, I wish," I laugh and my mom gasps, like I just told her I have a cocaine-filled balloon up my ass right now.

"What is wrong with you? Is it that girl, Bella?"

"No, Mom. Jesus. Bella has nothing to do with anything." I stare at my cereal. It's all soggy. The crunch is gone.

"Oh my God, you like her," Alice says with equal parts disgust and delight.

"I thought you were dating her sister?" my mom asks and Alice lays a protective hand on her belly.

"Yeah, I thought Bella was going out with Jake? What the hell's going on here, Edward?" Alice grins. The camera crew behind her is eating this shit up. Retreat! I need an explanation!

"I'm dating all of them. Rose, Bella and Jake. Sometimes Jessica. Oh and Mike too. Didn't you hear? I'm obsessed with Mike," I say, directly into the camera over my sister's shoulder. My sister rolls her eyes and then Jasper saunters into the kitchen in his boxers and a Cookie Monster t-shirt. Saved by the muppet clad marauder.

I disappear into the basement and am knee deep in a round of _Left 4 Dead_ when my mom thunders down the stairs and holds out that foiled pill. She doesn't even say anything, just holds it in her hand, her lips stretched into a thin white line.

There's no camera behind her, thank jeebus, but just to be safe, I make a mad dash for the bathroom.

I lock the door and turn on the shower to drown out her voice. I know I've basically cemented my guilt but I didn't know what else to do. She can't bug me incessantly if I'm on the toilet, right?

She's gonna go ahead and try.

She keeps pounding on the door, then threatens to take the door off the hinges. I'm sure the cameras are behind her now. They can smell blood in the water from a mile away. I can hear her on her phone, making me an appointment.

Let her make appointments. I don't care. I've tasted rebellion and guess what, I like it. I like it real good.

Okay, staying all night on a bean bag so I can cuddle a chick is not exactly rebellion. Maybe I've gone too far with this. It seems to be blowing up in face. She's not supposed to make a big deal about things. She's supposed to be ignoring my quasi-bad behavior!

She sends in my dad to weasel out information when he gets home. On Sundays, my dad goes to breakfast with his buddies from high school. Jake's dad is one of them. Tyler's dad too. His dad must be really proud of him. Captain of the Riverside High's finest. Quarterback for Regional champs. I wonder what my dad says at these little tea parties. _Well, he almost died __and probably__ has brain damage now._ I can see all those burly men patting my dad on the back, shaking their heads in pity. _Yeah, tough break man, tough break. _

Anyway, my dad sits across from me on a swivel chair in the basement. His legs are crossed, his hand under his chin and his spectacled-eyes are boring into the top of my head. I'm sitting on the couch, my elbows on my knees and my chin to my chest. Maybe if I hold very still, he'll forget I'm here and just leave.

He clears his throat. No such luck.

"So, tell me about this party you went to. Did you have a good time?" he asks and this feels like a set up. Parents never really want to know if you had fun. They just want to know how much borderline illegal shit happened. Because we all know illegal equals fun.

"Sure, if you're into that kind of stuff. I don't know, the whole pain is pleasure thing never really sat well with me, if you catch my drift." I wink at my dad and he looks absolutely puzzled. I wish I could freeze his facial expression. Priceless.

He doesn't challenge me though, still just trying to be the good therapist.

"I understand you're wanting to experiment and try new things. Do these drugs make you feel accepted? Powerful? Are they an escape? Tell me in three adjectives how these drugs make you feel."

"Dad, I'm not on drugs," I stress and he shakes his head.

"Three words, Edward. Just three. Baby steps."

"Null and void," I mutter and my dad nods.

"So they're helping you check out, I see. An escape then," he clears his throat. Uncrosses his legs, then crosses them the other way.

It's like no matter what I say, they don't hear me.

That's why I don't bother telling them I failed Calculus. On Monday, I go see my guidance counselor and she sends me to Algebra I. Because I've already had Algebra II. And Pre-Calculus. And if I don't take this last math class, I won't have enough core units to graduate.

So that's awesome.

I wait outside my new class and I'm surrounded by freshmen. Retainers and sack lunches and untied shoelaces. It's a nightmare. I'm about to break the fuck out. Maybe they'll let me go to summer school. Graduation isn't really that important if you're just going to a community college, right? I don't even think you need a diploma to go to community college.

"Edward? What are you doing here?"

I spin around and sure enough, because the Gods haven't smited me enough today, there's Bella in all her multicolored perfection. Her hair's in a bunch of braids today, a woven kaleidoscope down her back.

"I'm preparing for my future, how about yourself?" I respond and I'm sure it's a little too snarky but come on, after the weekend I've had, I deserve to blow off a little steam.

She doesn't respond right away. She's thinking. I wonder if she sees things like the Terminator. Like there's all these percentages and data facts flashing across her screen. Because that'd be awesome.

"Are you okay?" she asks and I sigh.

"I failed Calculus. I have to take bonehead math now." My new math teacher unlocks the door. He's whistling and looks like he just graduated high school yesterday. Mr. Jenks. Why, oh why, would he become a high school math teacher with a name like that? Jenkem. Google it. You won't be disappointed.

Bella doesn't say a word but she follows the teacher into the classroom. It's then that I realize, she too, is partaking in math of a bonehead variety. Open mouth. Insert foot. God, I'm an asshole.

She takes a desk near the back and I follow her. Apologize. Apologize now.

"Hey, I didn't mean-" I start and I don't know what to say. _I didn't mean to call you stupid. It's perfectly acceptable for you to be in this class because you're only a meager underclassman. _

She takes her notebook out of her bag, her eyelashes hiding her gaze. I can't even tell if she's listening.

"I'm sorry I'm a dick," I sigh and her eyes are on me now, the corner of her mouth tweaked up in a half-grin.

"Me too," she says quietly before settling into her chair. She's wearing pants today, baggy canvas pants and her monster hoodie. And pink sneakers with white rubber toes. I wonder if her socks are striped.

Jenks blabs for about thirty minutes about the quadratic formula and I can tell this class is going to be a cake walk. At least I won't have to worry about failing math anymore. And I get to sit next to Bella for an entire hour every day. Win, win.

"Bella," I whisper but she won't look at me. She's bent over her notebook, her pencil moving furiously across the page. Maybe she didn't hear me. She looks like she's working really hard. Maybe I should leave her alone.

She probably just didn't hear me.

"Bella," I say again, this time a little louder. She looks up this time, but I realize I have no real reason for her attention. Other than that I want it.

"Nevermind, I figured it out," I mumble and she smiles and goes back to her work. And so I'm forced to work also. I finish my assignment in record time too. Jenks writes homework on the board and Bella's packing up her stuff. She doesn't look like she's going to wait for me so I toss my shit in my backpack and catch her before she's out the door.

"So what class do you have next?" I ask her as she unwraps a Starburst.

"Computer aided drafting. In the technology building," she says. She pops the candy into her mouth and pockets the wrapper. For her belt, I bet.

She holds out a candy and I take the fruited chew. I unwrap it and hand her the wrapper and she grins, the pink waxy paper slipping into her pocket. We chew and walk, the school mingling around us but we may as well be invisible. They don't look at us and we don't look at them.

"What class do you have after that?" I ask, my hands in my pockets.

"Why, are you taking notes?" she teases and I shrug.

"Maybe," I say and she rolls her eyes. "I can't help it. I keep thinking about how you got your leg up by your shoulder when we were playing Twister."

She laughs, big, booming, genuine laughter and that's it. My day can't get any better.

"Are you hungry?" she asks and I shrug.

"I could eat. I can always eat. It's a lot of work getting oxygen all the way up to my huge brain." She grins again, her eyes squinting as she looks up at me.

"I'm starving," Bella groans and then there's a sparkle in her eye. "You want a burrito, don't you?"

"I don't _not _want a burrito," I say and then wonder where we're going to get a burrito. Bella answers my question by grabbing my hand and pulling me through the math building.

"Do you know a super secret distributor of burritos or something?" I ask, her braids whipping around as she looks back at me.

"No, but I know a super secret way out to the parking lot."

Bella leads me to the back of the school, toward the automotive department. She slips behind an old Volkswagen Beetle, a bunch of greaseheads up to their elbows in camshafts.

"Hey, Bella," one of the dudes remarks and he eyes me up and down.

"How's my truck?" she asks.

"Parked in the lot," he says with a grin and she drops my hand. Which I do not like. Especially because I think there's going to be some physical interaction with old dirty hands here.

"Garrett, do you know Edward?" Bella asks him and his eyes are back on me.

"Masen, right? Isn't your sister famous or something?" he asks but Bella interrupts before I can answer.

"Did the old girl give you any problems?"

"Man, that filter is a bitch to get to," Garrett says as he tosses her the keys.

"Thanks cuz," she says and then punches him in the arm. At least she didn't kiss him.

She grabs my hand again and now she's moving quickly, dragging me out the back door to the parking lot. Mr. Arlington is at his desk reading a magazine, completely oblivious to the two intruders sneaking through his shop. My heart pounds and I keep looking over at him, but Bella just walks like she has purpose here. Like this is no big deal and I try to keep up.

"Is he really your cousin?" I ask once we're outside and Bella scrunches up her nose.

"Not really. Family friend." She unlocks her door and climbs in the truck, reaching over to unlock the passenger door. "I let him use my truck for the class. Free oil change and tire rotation."

She revs up the truck and then we're squealing out of the lot. I can't believe how easy that was. Bella turns to me and smiles, her cheeks flushed.

"Do you do this often?" I ask and she takes the corner at an abnormally high speed. I hold the bar above my head and grit my teeth.

"What, ditch?" she asks and then shrugs. "My dad says he doesn't care as long as I keep my grades up. Also, I take bonehead classes so I never fall behind." She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and I'm reminded of my completely insensitive, yet highly accurate statement earlier.

"Geez, build a bridge, will you?" I roll my eyes and she laughs. We pull into Miguel's and Bella parks. She gets out of the truck, but I'm frozen in my seat. Because standing at the open window, for all of Riverside to see in all her pink pantsuit glory, is my mother.

With Mr. Cullen.

And his hand's on her back. In a tender and loving way that is making me want to break every finger in his hand.

I can't stop watching him touch my mom.

Bella walks around to the front of the truck and is pulling some cash from her back pocket when her eye catches Mr. Cullen. She stops, her eyes immediately flash to me frozen in the front seat. She ducks back around and is inside the truck before Mr. Cullen can even pull out his wallet. He's buying her food too. Cheap ass bastard. He could have at least taken her to Red Lobster or something.

Bella doesn't say anything, just watches me, watching my mom, who's watching Mr. Cullen. And giggling, from what I can see. And playing with her necklace.

They sit at one of the tables outside and it's pretty evident we aren't getting burritos today. At least, not from Miguel's. Actually, I feel like I'll never need to eat again.

Bella keeps looking at me and I don't want to talk about it. If I did, I would talk about with her and probably only her. But I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to talk about it. I want to close my eyes and pretend it never happened.

"What's your tattoo of?" I ask and there's a crease between her eyebrows. She's confused and I don't blame her, it's kind of a weird out of nowhere question. She probably isn't even aware that I saw it.

"Oh, um, it's a swan. When I was little, I really loved the story of the _Ugly Duckling._ I used to check it out of the library every week. Even though I'd read it like 80 times. Then my Uncle Charlie bought me my own copy." She starts the ignition and I slide down in the seat as she backs out of the parking spot.

"Can I see it?" I ask and she turns and gives me this side-eye look, like I just asked to see her tits or something.

"Maybe. One day," she says and I raise my eyebrows.

"Your parents let you do all this stuff. Pierce your eyebrow, get a tattoo. I thought you couldn't get a tattoo until you were eighteen. That's what Jake said."

"My parents don't care. And I had my friend do the tattoo."

"A friend?" I ask.

"A boyfriend."

"What was his name?"

"Embry."

"Does he go to our school?"

"Uh, no. He's not exactly in school."

"Did you date a long time?" I ask, starving for the information. It's a distraction, but the thought of Bella letting some dude ink her hip is slowly taking precedence over the fact that my mom's a whoring slut.

"Not really, couple weeks."

"And you let him tattoo your body?"

"I asked him to do it," she says, bold, fierce. "I don't regret it."

"Did you have sex with him?" I ask even though I know I shouldn't. She should tell me to fuck off. That was rude and completely out of line. I'm about to apologize when she answers.

"Would it change anything? If I did or didn't? Would you see me differently?" She asks and she's expecting an answer. She might be a freak in the sack. She might not. I don't care about that. I just want to know things about her.

"Not really, no," I answer.

"Then why does it matter?" she asks softly. She pulls into a parking lot and parks by the huge Costco. We must be in Melrose Park. I'm not exactly sure what we're doing here but whatever it is she needs, she's getting it in bulk.

"I didn't sleep with him," Bella says, her hands still on the steering wheel. "I mean, I slept with him, like actually sleeping. But we didn't have sex."

I exhale and my whole body feels light. I was wrong. It does matter.

"I haven't ever had sex," she continues and then she pushes her hair behind her ear and is looking at me out of the side of her eye.

"I've done, like sexy things, but no..." she whistles, sticks her finger throw the circle she's making with her other hand and I laugh. Hysterically. I don't think I've ever seen a girl do that before.

"And not for any particular reason, either. I just...haven't." She gives me that side-eye glance again. "Are you hungry?"

I give her a side glance not unlike the one she's giving me right now.

"We're eating at Costco?"

"They have monstrous hot dogs."

"Well, there's nothing I love more than a huge wiener," I say and Bella's all teeth.

"You and me both," she exaggerates and then scoots out of her truck.

Bella holds onto my arm. Not leading, but just leisurely attached, like I'm some gentleman caller or something. She pulls a card out of her bag and flashes it to the old lady standing at the door.

"This place would be chaos if that lady wasn't there," I murmur to Bella and she snorts.

"My card's expired. Don't tell," she whispers into my armpit. I don't like her head always being so close to my armpit. Maybe I should slouch.

We meander through the aisles, looking at the various enormous boxed goods. Bella holds up a case of vitamins.

"Man, that's a lot of stool softener." She laughs and I pick up a pack of sixteen razors.

"For the bearded lady," I say, tossing them back on the shelf. She drops the relaxobutt and drags me off toward the food.

"Oh! The pretzel lady's here!" she exclaims. We wait at a small table in front of a middle-aged lady with a hair net and a red apron. She has this huge mole on her chin and I can't stop staring at it.

"Two minutes," she barks at us and Bella nods, like she's heard this all before.

"Last year, I stepped on glass and cut my foot really bad. Like there was blood everywhere. And I thought, shit, I'm going to need stitches. I won't be able to run. I was totally freaking out. But you know, once I cleaned it, it wasn't so bad. It just looked worse than it really was. I didn't even need stitches."

The microwave dings and the lady pulls out a salted pretzel. She cuts it into squares and stabs them with a toothpick, handing one to Bella and then to me.

"Okay," I respond because I'm not exactly sure why she's telling me this story.

"I'm just saying, maybe that thing with your mom and Mr. Cullen looks worse than it really is. Don't assume you know the whole story." She pops the pretzel into her mouth and then smiles.

"I don't know _any _of the story," I blurt and she's taken aback.

"Hey, Captain Exasperation. I'm just saying, it's probably not what you think."

"But he was touching her. In a gentle, yet possessive way. You don't think that's weird?" I ask and she weaves her arm through mine.

"I'm touching you right now in a gentle, yet possessive way. Do you think it's weird?" She blinks up at me, her deep brown eyes outlined in black.

Weird, no. Wildly romantic, perhaps. Utterly endearing to the point I'm trying to use the force to get her to kiss me...

This isn't helping.

"Where are these giant wieners I was promised?" I ask and she switches directions, marching me off to the food court where they have umbrellas at every table. Even though we're inside. Does this seem excessive to anyone else?

"Now, I'm buying and I don't want any arguments. I've got a fiver burning a whole in my pocket," Bella says and I look up at the menu. A hot dog and a coke is like a buck fifty.

"High roller!" I exclaim and she whips out her cash and sure enough, all she's got is a five dollar bill.

"I found it in my coat pocket. I must have left it in there last year," she says and then slaps the bill on the counter.

"Two wieners please. And a soda." She says to the kid in the hairnet behind the window. "You don't mind if we share a soda, do you?"

"Fine by me. They don't have Dr. Pepper here, so I'm not that invested."

"Ah yes, I saw what happened the last time a girl came between you and your beloved doctor," she snarks and I frown. I have literally nothing to say in my defense.

The guy hands her a cup and a bill and some coins and she hands the cup to me as she pockets her change. He gives her two foil wrapped hot dogs the size of my forearm.

I don't know what soda to get so I just fill up with Coke. It's a safe bet, right? Everyone likes Coke. Bella's at the condiment counter, loading her hot dog up with relish and onions and mustard and ketchup.

"I love condiments," she says as she hands me my hot dog.

"Really? I'm not a fan. I can't have things that are crunchy on foods that are cooked. If that makes any sense." I squirt a healthy amount of ketchup on my dog and then a fine line of mustard. The ketchup to mustard ratio is crucial in order to maximize my hot dog enjoying experience.

"Really? I'm exactly the opposite. I hate eating mushy food with mushy food. Like I have to have something crunchy, like chips in my sandwich. Or fries in my burrito. Or onions on my hot dog." Opposites. I don't like this. Not one bit.

We find a table and sit down and Bella eats her whole hot dog. Each and every onion too. I discreetly toss about a fourth of mine in the trash. I don't want her to think I'm a punk bitch who can't handle a whole hot dog.

Bella drives us back to school and she sings along with the radio the whole time. Oldies. It's still early and we can't really just saunter back on campus so she parks by my car and kills the engine. It's cold today and the windows are fogged in about ten seconds and I don't want to go home. I don't want to have to see my mom and my dad and pretend I didn't see her with my teacher. I don't want to put on my asshole hat and come up with snarky witicisims that infuriate my parents and degrade my sister. It's exhausting. Being with Bella is just so easy. Like I don't have to think. I don't have to act. I'm limitless, weightless, completely free to just be.

I want to tell her all of this and then I want her head against my chest and her arms wrapped around me.

"Thank you for the hot dog," I say because I have to say something.

"You can get next," she says and then I'm moving closer to her. I don't even know that I'm doing it really.

I touch her neck, lightly because I don't want to freak her out but she's like a magnet and I'm iron to the core. I touch her cheek and for a second she lets me kiss her. She tastes like onions and I don't even care because there's fire beneath her lips. She inches closer, her leg sliding against mine and eliminating any space between us.

Then her hands fold over mine and she's pushing them away. She holds them between us and she won't meet my eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly and it's like a slow bullet or a purple nurple. It's the worst kind of torture.

"I'm not," I respond. "What the hell? Why are you so resistant to this?"

"What do you want, Edward?" Her eyes plead but her lip trembles.

"What, like in a metaphysical sense?" I snark and she's stone.

"You don't get to be mean to me yet," she says calmly and she drops my hands.

"Why not? Just tell me the truth, I can take it. Why won't you let yourself like me?" I plead and she sighs.

"I do like you. I just feel overwhelmed. Like you need from me more than I can give. I can't fix you, Edward."

"I don't want you to fix me," I blurt and I sound like an asshole but I don't care.

Yes I do. I do care. I care a lot, actually.

"Who says that I need to be fixed?" I ask, this time in a calmer tone.

This makes her smile and I get my wish. She hugs me again.

"That's exactly what I hoped you'd say."

…

**A/N:**

I feel really shitty about not replying to reviews. It's a dick move. I know. I apologize. I just really really hate this reply format. It's not user friendly at all. It's like hates it when we talk to each other, they way they'll delete shit and replace it with asterisks. That's so rude. Does anyone else feel this way?

I do so love your comments though. You inspire me! Thank you so much for reading.

Also, I miss MusicHats.

**Boo** prereads and **LightStarDusting** beta's. Because I offer them sexual favors.


	13. Only God Can Judge Me

CH 13 - Only God Can Judge Me

…

"This isn't one of those youth reform survival groups, is it? You're not dropping me off in the woods or anything, are you?"

My mom just drives. She's wearing one of her pantsuits. She grinds her teeth and The Carpenters play over the radio. Dentist music.

"Because if it is, you could have warned me. I didn't bring my toothbrush." I push the unlock button. Then lock the doors again. Click. Click. Click.

I should be in Algebra right now with Bella. I should text her, see what she's doing. She probably won't respond because she's in class right now. But she might.

_My mom's taken me hostage. If you don't hear from me in four to six hours, avenge my death._

My mom glares at me out of the corner of her eye. How dare I text in her vicinity? How dare I?

"Who are you texting?" she asks and I feel like I should ask her the same thing. After her little lunch date with Mr. Cullen, I'm wondering what kind of messages she has on her phone.

"My dealer," I say and she's glaring again. "Eyes on the road, Mom."

"This isn't a joke, Edward. You are self-destructing and it needs to stop. You have the rest of your life ahead of you. You don't want to do something now you'll regret."

"It's not that big of a deal!" I laugh because this whole farce is getting out of hand.

After she found the suspicious foil wrapped pill in my pants last week, she insisted on raiding my room. She was sorely disappointed. All she found was a couple of empty CornNuts bags, some soda cans, a pair of socks I had thought disappeared under my bed and a whole lot of porn. She threw everything out. She was trying to be sly about it but my room hasn't been this clean in years. I just hope she feels slightly awkward about spying on my internet browsing history. And I hope she doesn't have any more questions about poosterbation.

"We'll just see what the doctor says." She frowns, big brown sunglasses cover her eyes.

"If the doc says I'm fine, will you just let it go? Because I am, you know. I'm fine. I made the whole thing up."

My mom's lips press into that straight line and I know she thinks I'm full of shit. That it's an excuse and I'm just trying to get out of going to this appointment. What's it going to take to get her off my back? A lobotomy? Because I'd consider it at this point. There are positives to being catatonic.

Pudding, for one. And naps. Who doesn't like a good nap?

Just then my phone buzzes on my lap and it's Bella. Math must be over.

_But what will I wear? Deadly ninja or vengeful samurai? _

I grin and quickly type my response.

_Depends, which one involves fishnets?_

I stare at my phone for a full 30 seconds, waiting for a response. But she's going to make me wait. Bella will only text me three times in a row. And then she disappears for a good hour or two. Which is frustrating as all hell because I don't know if it's me she's hiding from or if she's just busy. Sometimes I think she's legitimately busy. Other times I imagine she can't think of any witty comebacks. I mean, I am a pretty clever son-of-a-bitch. Once in a while, I'm absolutely sure she hates my guts and never wants to speak to me again.

"Who is that? Why are you giggling? Is that a joke?" my mom asks again.

"Yeah, how do you wake up Lady Gaga in the morning?" I ask and she looks at me in utter repulsion. I've never fully understood the term aghast until now.

"Who's Lady Gaga?"

I rest my case.

We ride in silence the rest the way. Half a dozen times I try to ask her about Mr. Cullen. Bella said I should ask for clarification. She said that most of the time, situations aren't half as bad as we think they are but we're so afraid of looking dumb that we don't ask questions. No matter what I do in this situation, I'm going to look like a fucking idiot. I'm either going to accuse my mom of sleeping with my band teacher or I'm going to actually call her out on it. Either way, this doesn't bode well for yours truly.

Bella also suggested that I leave it alone. She said that I should trust my mom to take care of her own issues. But how is that possible? To ignore the fact that my mother could very well be boinking my teacher and that she has the audacity to do so right in front of my face? Alright, I know it wasn't right in front of my face but he was touching her. In front of everyone.

I'll talk to her on the way home. Definitely. If she doesn't drop me off in a ditch somewhere.

My mom takes the highway into the city. Traffic is shit, mostly because it's lunch time and the streets are flooded with rushed, hungry business men and women in their trench-coats and trousers. She pays to park in the garage of a tall building with arched doorways and windows. It's probably historic. It looks like one of those buildings that I see imploding on the news all the time.

Once inside, we're met with a receptionist who sits behind a glass window. She slides the pane open and my mom leans through the tiny opening.

"Masen to see Dr. Caius. We have an appointment." She rifles through her purse and pulls out some cards and then hands them to the chick in the window.

"Fill out these forms please and bring them back to this window. How old is the child?" Oh lord, here we go again.

"Seventeen," my mom remarks and I'm surprised she remembered. The lady stamps some stuff, clackity clacks on her computer and then gives my mom the forms. I snatch them from her hand.

"I can fill them out myself. I'm practically an adult," I mumble and my mom rolls her eyes.

"There's a scary thought."

I ignore her and instead, focus on filling out the paperwork. I don't know what they could possibly learn about me from these questions.

_Do I balance my checkbook? _

_Have I been in a car accident recently?_

_Do I self-medicate?_

I'm seventeen. The answers to this questions should be pretty obvious. What kind of psychiatrist is this?

I lazily circle my answers and leave everything else blank. I hand it to my mom and she frowns. Without a word, she fills in all the pertinent information. And that, my friends, is enabling at its best.

I hope this isn't an Intervention. I don't know how I'd feel about being on _two _reality shows. My head might explode.

"Edward Masen," the woman behind the glass calls me in and my mom stands. I slowly get up and the woman opens a magical door. It's made to look like the wall. So you can't find your way in. Or out. This is getting creepier by the second.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Masen. We just need to see Edward," the woman says and my mom looks so dejected, I almost feel sorry for her.

"Don't worry, Mom. I'll tell them everything we talked about." I wink at my mom. She's fuming but she just sits back down. The woman really is a saint.

The nurse leads me down a neutral hallway. Beige carpet. Beige walls. Beige abstract art in beige frames. The office she leads me into is very black and white. I haven't even spoken to this Caius character and already he's fucking with my head.

There's a fountain on the wall and a zen rock garden on the floor in the corner. It's about the size of bath towel and at first, I wonder if this dude's just got a picky cat. The couch is very square and modern and black leather. When I sit down, it doesn't give. Completely solid. The desk is made of glass and is bare, save for a couple hunks of metal, what I presume to be magnets. Even the art on the wall is black and white, a couple Rorschach paintings decorate the walls. Man, this guy loves being a shrink.

I wait for about twenty minutes before the doctor comes in. He's extremely pale with white blond hair that falls in his eyes which he keeps brushing away. He's not that old, maybe in his thirties and his shirt is buttoned-up all the way to his chin. He's wearing a yellow cardigan and bright blue tie. Jesus, what an ego maniac.

"Edward, pleasure," he says and holds out his hand. Any dude who uses the word pleasure is creepy. Just saying. I stand and shake his hand because I'm not a complete animal. I still have some manners.

"Hey," I mutter.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." Is this a trick? Like one of those brain teasers. He knows I can't possibly be comfortable in this room.

I'm going to try apparently. I sit on the brick of a couch and he seats himself at his glass desk. He swivels in his chair and pulls an iPad out of his briefcase. Which he seems to have conjured up out of nowhere. What kind of sorcery is this?

He sets it up on the desk and then he's typing on the screen. Of course, he's an Apple guy. He had that douchebag stench all over him.

"What brings you in today, Edward?" he asks and his eyes are constantly on his tablet. Maybe he's playing Fruit Ninja.

"My mom made me come." I'll take Things I Thought I'd Die Before Saying for five hundred, Alex. This makes me snort. Dr. Caius pauses his typing to make eye contact and nod. Wow, we're really breaking through now.

"I see. And why do you think your mother is concerned?"

"She thinks I'm on drugs," I say and the good old doc types away at his screen. Is it really considered typing? I mean, there aren't even any keys.

"Are you on drugs?" he asks and I almost laugh. I hope my mom's not paying good money for this shit.

"No," I say, real slow like because it feels like the hundredth time I've told this story. "I went to a party and this guy gave me a pill. I didn't take it. I put it in my pocket and she found it. Do you think if I were on drugs, I'd carelessly leave them in my pockets? Isn't that like a prerequisite to being on drugs? You have to actually take them?"

"I'm hearing a lot of anger in your tone, Edward. Are you angry at your mother?" he asks and then crosses his legs. He's wearing loafers. Without socks. In the middle of December. What a tool.

"I'm seventeen. Anger's pretty much the only emotion I've mastered," I smirk and Dr. Caius isn't amused. Come on, that was funny!

"Right. It says here you had an accident a couple months ago. Can you remember what happened?"

"Yes," I answer and he waits for an explanation. I'm going to make him ask for it.

He sits there, staring at me and I'm pretty sure he's caught on to my game. He's going to wait until I offer the information. I think I saw this in a movie once. That one with Ben Affleck. Or what's-his-face, Matt Damon. I think one of them was in it.

I wait a good ten minutes before I speak again. "You went to Yale? For psychiatry?"

Dr. Caius purses his lips and then breaks out a little notepad.

"You've shown classic symptoms of Oppositional Defiant Disorder and your mother indicates you had some issues with impulsivity, fighting at school, controlling your behavior, etcetera. These are highly indicative of some attention issues. I'm recommending you start medication right away and come back in four weeks so we can monitor your progress."

He's writing the whole time he's talking. So that's it? He hands me the script and I stare at his scrawled handwriting. What the fuck just happened?

Dr. Caius taps on his iPad a few times and within minutes, there's a gentle knock on the door.

"Yes, come in," Caius murmurs and the lady from the front desk peeks inside. Behind her is my mother and I feel an ambush coming on.

My mom wanders into the black and white room and meekly seats herself beside me.

"Gianna, dear, we need to see Edward back in four to six weeks," Dr. Caius says and she bows her head and softly closes the door. Like a good little secretary.

My mom looks at me expectantly, like I asked him to call her back here or something, and I shrug. I don't know why the fuck she's here.

"Mrs. Masen. Esme. How are you, dear?" The dear old doctor is pleasant and prim and I want to puke.

"Well, I've been a bit worried about Edward. He's had such a drastic change in behavior," she says and then she grabs my hand. I shrug her off. That's gross, lady.

"I understand," Caius says, all sympathetic-like. "There are a variety of possible causes for Edward's behavior. Attention Deficit Disorder, depression, Oppositional Defiant Disorder; it's unclear whether this was a pre-existing condition or it could be in part from damage to the frontal lobe from the fall. He's having trouble paying attention in class and he can't control his emotions or behavior. It says here, he's extremely messy and procrastinates. He puts off responsibilities and is defiant or disorderly in the home. Is this accurate?"

"Yes, he just doesn't care about anything anymore. Not school, or band or his family..." she trails off.

"I'm fine," I say and my mom starts to cry. "Oh God, now you're crying? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Do you see what I mean?" my mom sobs and Dr. Caius scratches his chin.

"Esme, what you have to realize is that Edward's brain is just wired differently. He's not making connections the way that say, you or I do. But it's something that he can learn to live with. Your son's going to be fine. With therapy and medication..."

"Medication?" my mom weeps and wails all over again.

"Yes, he needs an outside source of relief. Something that will adjust his brain because it isn't doing so naturally." I hate the way they're talking about me, like I'm not even here.

"Dude, Mom. I'm fine. I don't have ADD or ODD. I don't have anything. I'm just a kid. A pissed off, shitty kid. I don't need medication," I blurt.

"You were self-medicating, Edward. That's why you turned to illegal drugs. This medication is going to give you the same effect, only it's tailored for your specific needs. I assure you, it's going to make your life so much easier." Dr Caius smiles wholeheartedly and I believe he's earnest in his every word. I also believe he's getting a kickback from some pharmaceutical company and the more prescriptions he writes, the more yachts he can buy.

My mom dabs at her eyes and I can't stop rolling mine. Dr. Caius gives us some pamphlets and then the titles of a few of his books on ODD. Yes, he's pimping out literature that he's written on the topic of the very disorder he's diagnosed me with. This reeks of nepotism. Or some comparable -ism I've yet to discover.

The ride home is a nightmare. My mom cries the whole way, like the doctor just told me I have testicular cancer or something. It's not like they're gonna take a ball, Mom.

She pulls into the garage and she just sits there for a minute. She shuts off the car and she turns to look at me, smeared mascara under her perfectly green gray eyes.

"I just want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're going through all this. I don't want to see you hurting and I know you're dealing with a lot of pain right now. I just...I just want you to know I love you and we're going to get through this. We're going to be okay."

I don't know who she's trying to convince.

"I saw you with Mr. Cullen," I blurt and she leans away from me. She stares at the steering wheel, sniffing her runny nose every two seconds.

"He's my client," she says quietly. "He's looking for an investment property."

"Yeah, what exactly is he investing in?" I smirk and my mom's pissed.

"Don't be such a child," she snipes as she gets out of the car, running from the confrontation. So fucking typical.

I can't believe she believes any of this. Doesn't she know me at all? Didn't she know me as a little child? I'm not attention deficit or oppositional. I'm neglected, dammit. Look at me, you fucking idiot! Look at me!

She doesn't. The door slams behind her as she marches inside and I'm left in the dark.

I hit the garage door opener and get out of the car. I can't be here right now. Jake hates me and he lives all the way across town. I could walk to Mike's but I don't think he'd really appreciate me just showing up at his door.

Besides, we all know where I really want to go.

It doesn't take me long to walk there, just a couple minutes. The wind is fierce and I shiver on her doorstep until she answers. She's wearing her running gear, tight stretchy black pants and a thin, blue hoodie.

"What happened?" Bella asks as soon as she sees me and I can't speak. I just breathe because I'm afraid I'll fucking cry like a little bitch if she makes me talk about it.

She pushes me to her truck and I let her. She opens my door and I climb in the truck and it smells like strawberries. There's a little Strawberry Shortcake air freshener dangling from her mirror. She starts the ignition and I stare out the window and I know exactly where she's going.

She parks at the fence and doesn't say a word. She holds my hand and we sit in silence until the first plane embarks on its decent. The truck shakes and my heart pounds and the engines roar in my head. And I breathe. I let the exhilaration fill me and I suck in the oxygen by the mouthfuls but it's not enough. Is this what it feels like to hyperventilate?

"There's a foreign dignitary on that plane. He's coming to Chicago for a hot dog and to see the Bulls play. Because he's loaded and he can do things like that," Bella says and I look over at her like she's crazy. She grins and bites her lip and I understand. It's a game she's playing. I can play along.

"He's going to have brunch tomorrow with Kanye," I say and she smirks.

"Kanye likes Otis, you know," she says and I roll my eyes.

"He also likes loafers. Doesn't mean I'm gonna wear them."

"Couldn't find them in your size, huh?"

"How hard is it to carry a pair of loafers in a size fourteen? They'd only need like two. It's not like they're in high demand," I say and she's laughing at me.

"You'd look cute in loafers. And skinny jeans. And you can grow your hair out. What is your opinion on facial hair?" Bella turns in her seat and pinches my chin and then pinches my nose. How does she get away with doing incredibly weird things like that and still mange to be completely adorable?

"Facial hair is my nemesis. You've seen my dad, right? He can't grow a beard to save his life. Just grows in all splotchy and white-trash like. I'm the same way."

"That's okay. I don't like beards. They're too scratchy."

"Do you plan on being close enough to feel my scratchy beard? Because that would require you to spend lots of time in this general vicinity," I say and then motion to my mouth and chin. She laughs again, energy radiating from the spark in her eyes to the static electricity in her poofy, multicolored hair.

"Maybe," she says and then she kisses my cheek. She lingers there, her lips next to my face. All it takes is a slight turn, a shift in angle, and my nose bumps against hers. She breathes against my mouth and her hands twist in my sweater and she climbs on my lap.

She's so close and I'm hyperventilating again. She brings her mouth to mine, tender and soft, she draws me in. Her hands glide up the back of my neck and I let the tingles rush over my scalp and down my spine as she fills my mouth with hers. She engulfs me, her lips caressing mine, flush and persistent. She draws me in and fills me up and I don't know where to put my hands.

I let them settle on her waist. Which is super tiny. I might crush her. Like if I squeeze too hard I might damage her internally. So I let my hands wrap around her back instead. My fingers inch up over her spine and then pull down over her shoulders. Pulling her closer and closer until her soul touches mine. I visualize this, her soul streaming from her skin and bonding with mine. This can't be healthy. I'm like one of those baby ducks who follows whatever's quacking. Only she's not a duck. She's a swan. In disguise.

"You're so beautiful," I murmur against her cheek and she sighs. I move my mouth to her neck and she smells like sweat and citrus and her skin is salty. She's breathing heavily now. She's so into this, so unreserved. It's not a show. Just action and reaction. Opposites. But equal.

"I love you," I say and before the words have even been breathed, she's frozen.

"Oh my God," she says and she slumps, her head knocking against my chest. "That's impossible!"

She's exasperated and it's irritating.

"What the hell does that mean?" I shoot right back.

"You are infatuated with me. Possibly in lust. But you can't possibly love me yet." She sighs and then slides back into her seat and I shiver at the chill. She starts the engine in her truck and turns on the heat.

"I don't want to leave yet." I pout. "And you're the one who climbed on my lap. Are you just using me for my body?"

This makes her smile, despite her attempts to hide it.

"Look, I just think it's impossible for us to really know true love. We aren't emotionally mature enough to comprehend what it means to truly accept and love someone, exactly as they are. You barely love yourself, Edward. You can't possibly love me if you can't love yourself."

"But don't you love me? Like even a little bit?" I blurt and she looks sad. God, she doesn't. This is so fucking embarrassing.

"I love things about you," she says.

"What? What things do you love about me?" I ask. I'm already out there, it can't get any worse.

"I think you're funny. And very patient," she says and I think she's being sarcastic. "It's just, you _loved _my sister. You thought she was perfect. You wanted her so badly and now you want me. How can you love someone like her and then think you love someone like me? How is that even possible?"

"I didn't love her. Not the real her. I loved the idea of her, and that wasn't real."

"And how do you know that this is real? How do you know you what you _love _is really me? You don't even know the real _you _right now," she says and I frown. I don't have any answers for her.

"I wish you could have known me, back when I was normal," I mumble.

"I did know you when you were normal," she says quietly and her eyes are soft and dark. "It's just that, people our age don't end up together forever. They do stupid things and they break up and they spend the rest of their lives reliving those old hurts. I don't want that to happen with you. I want to always know you."

"I have no fucking clue what you mean by all that," I say and she laughs, a big enormous sound and then she hugs me and despite the dejection, I feel full. This tiny girl makes me feel safe and completely secure.

"I had a doctor's appointment today. They want me to take pills. And they won't listen to anything I say." I mumble into her hair and she kisses my cheek.

"You're fine, you know that, right? You're totally typical. Like almost a cliche," she laughs.

"That's not helping," I smirk and she squishes my face again.

"Yes it is. Look at you. You're practically gleeful."

"I think that's from the kissing," I say and she laughs again.

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Well, nice is my forte," I scratch my scar on the back of my head and I get no satisfaction. It's like there's this itch under my skin that I can't get to.

"I'm going to Washington for Christmas. I'll be gone for two weeks. We're going to visit my uncle," she says quietly and my gut feels heavy. Two weeks? Two whole weeks? What the hell am I going to do for two weeks with no one to talk to?

"Can I still text you? Or call you maybe?" I ask and it sounds so pathetic. I don't even care. Pathetic is far better than the hole of despair that is slowly burning in my chest.

"I think so. I don't know how good my phone service will be. And we're going to be busy. So don't take it personal if I don't respond right away. But I'll try."

I can't even look at her. How dare her parents take her to fucking Washington! I feel like freaking out and throwing a fit to make her stay. She could stay at my house. We could sleep in the basement and play video games and make out. But that wouldn't be fair. And she'd probably refuse the offer. I've had enough rejection for the day.

"I'll miss you, though," she adds and she pinches my nose again with a smile, the bar through her eyebrow lifting with the corner of her lips.

She's so full of shit. She totally loves me.

...

**A/N:**

Hey peeps! Sorry this is so delayed today. I don't know if I'll be able to have the next chapter up next Sunday. I'm going to try like mad, but I'm dealing with some real life issues that just won't leave me alone!

I love your comments and thank you so much for spending time with this story. It has a little bit of crush on you.

**Boo **prereads and **lightstardusting **beta's. They're spectacular.

Thank you so much for reading.


	14. Trapped

CH 14 - Trapped

…

"This is the actual test track from Top Gear," I say as my Ford Fiesta drifts around the corner and expertly takes out a dozen bowling pins in the process. Because that's how I roll.

"Do they have the bowling pins on the show?" Jasper asks as he crosses his legs. He's reading this big pregnant lady book and eating a container of Greek yogurt. He's fairly concerned about his digestive health.

"No, they do not have giant bowling pins on the Top Gear test track. It's just on the game. For fun, or whatever," I respond and then Jasper gasps. He's been doing this every five minutes for the last hour. It makes me jump every time.

"Why are you reading that? It's just going to make it worse," I say. His forehead wrinkles and his eyebrows scrunch together and the book is practically touching his face.

"Naw man, it's incredible. Did you know that after a woman gives birth, her brain releases a chemical that makes her forget about all the pain she just went through? So she like, won't hold it against the kid or something. How does the body know to do that? Fucking blows my mind." Jasper keeps reading his book. And Alice didn't even tell him to. There's gotta be something wrong with this dude.

"I wish _my_ brain would release a chemical that made me forget shit. Like that time Alice made us watch Disney Pixar's _Up_," I say as my car drifts into the gravel. "Shit!"

"I know. That movie still haunts me. Those dudes at Pixar are sick fucks."

"Jasper! Let's go!" Alice barks from the top of the basement stairs. Jasper snaps the book closed and then grabs his empty container of yogurt.

"Wish me luck," he says and marches up the stairs. Alice's due date is in two days. She has an appointment with her midwife to get prepped. This will include oiling up all her lady parts so the messiah she's spewing forth into this world doesn't wreck shop down below.

I check my phone again. I sent Bella a message almost forty-five minutes ago. It was a good one too, all about Alice's special massage. She's been in Washington four days already. Which means I've been stuck in my house for the four days straight. With my pregnant sister, her film crew, and my parents. Throw in Christmas and it's basically an episode of Law and Order waiting to happen.

Christmas break sucks so hard this year. This should be the best two weeks of my life. Two weeks of all night gaming sessions and sleeping-in. Two weeks of sweatpants. Two weeks of midnight movies and hanging out on patio furniture in the middle of winter. But all my friends have disappeared. Mike's in California for Christmas with his mom. Bella told me that. Bella talks to my best friend more than I do.

The last time I fought with Mike was in the sixth grade. He bet me twenty bucks that spontaneous combustion was a real thing. I didn't believe it but he made me watch some video on the internet that he claimed was proof. I pointed out that the video wasn't conclusive, a valuable argument considering the plethora of absolute bullshit that gets posted online. He wanted his twenty bucks and I wouldn't pay. He called me a cheat and a liar and didn't speak to me for ten days. That's like months to a sixth grader. It was agony. The worst two weeks of my life. I knew if I just paid him the money, it'd be over. We did spit-shake on it. But I didn't want to give in. I was right. And there was no way I was backing down.

Anyway, we had gym together that year. Our teacher was this stout she-male, Coach Vance, who never shaved behind her knees. I know because she made us sit on numbers painted on the gym floor in alphabetical order while she took attendance. Mike and I were always next to each other when we had to sit alphabetically.

This particular day we were coerced into playing flag football out on the field. Vance split the class in half and Newton barely missed the cut. Under normal circumstances, this would have been awesome, a stroke of alphabetical luck. But on this day, the last thing I wanted was to be on Mike's team. How was I supposed to maintain my silent treatment and manage enough teamwork to win the game? Winning was really important to me back then.

We were in the huddle, trying to figure out who was going to play what positions and Mike wanted to be quarterback. Well, obviously this was Tyler Crowley's position and him and Mike start having words. It was your typical slander, insulting the male ego by attacking where it hurts the worst: the dick. Then Tyler said something about Mike's dad leaving because his son threw like a fag. Obviously, Tyler didn't know about Mike being gay yet. And everybody used to say that kind of shit. We had no idea what it really meant, but we said it anyway.

I didn't like the way Tyler was acting and I didn't like that Mike didn't defend himself. He just stood there, with his Velcro belt decorated with blue strips fastened around his waist and he had tears. He was going to cry.

I obviously couldn't let that happen. Not during gym. Not in front of Tyler. So I kicked Tyler in the shin. I don't care how tough you think you are, getting kicked in the shin fucking hurts. Tyler went down and old hairy kneepits sent me and Tyler to the principal. Mike met me by the basketball courts after school so we could walk home together and we just started talking about this new episode of Battlestar Gallactica, like nothing had ever happened.

Shit. I'm gonna have to kick myself in the shin. This isn't going to be easy.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, for reals this time, and I almost drop my controller. It's Bella. It has to be. Like literally, no one else is speaking to me right now.

_Does this massage have a happy ending? You usually have to pay extra for that. _

I message her back right away, because, well, I have nothing better to do.

_I think she might have Jasper help so they're giving her a discount. _

There. That should conjure up some nice, disgusting mental images.

_Do you think she's going to eat the placenta? Like Tom Cruise? _

Just when I think I can't possibly file another disturbing image in my brain, Bella sends me a gem like this. Now all I can think about is Alice sitting at the table and dining on bloody placenta. In a _Top Gun_ uniform, complete with a pair of those stupid sunglasses.

_Thanks for that. Really. I may never eat again. _

This is almost the longest conversation I've texted with her. She must be really bored.

_That will last about two hours. I know you have a bag of CornNuts stashed in your glove box. _

Yep. I sure do. Because Bella dropped them off on her morning run before she left for Washington. And she kissed me again. Why yes, I am feeling like a pimp and I think I will brush my shoulder off, thank you very much.

_When are you coming home again?_

She won't respond. Every time I bring up stuff like this, she doesn't respond. Like she doesn't want to encourage this type of clingy behavior. It's times like these that those pills are pretty enticing.

I'm not going to take them. My mom filled the prescription and keeps them on the ledge under the window next to the sink. As a reminder. I walk over and pick up the bottle every once in a while, just to give her a thrill. Do you know I could sell those pills for like, a hundred bucks a pop? That's a lot of cash. I have been wanting a new gaming system.

I don't think Bella would approve of such shenanigans. And quite honestly, that's what's been driving me lately. What would Bella do? I should have bracelets and lanyards made. Between that and the pills, I'd never have to work an honest day in my life.

She's just so rational. She always says the right thing, always does what's best. I can't tell if she actually stops and evaluates every situation or if she's just naturally super conscientious. Whatever it is, it's kind of inspirational and shit.

I finish my race on the test track and toss down the controller. God, I am so fucking bored. I actually contemplated cleaning out my closet, just so I'd have something to do. That plan went straight to hell as soon as I found my old X-Men comic books. I spent some quality time with the Dark Phoenix and then watched some porn. Jean Grey does things to me, especially in my bathing suit area.

I'd kill for those CornNuts right now but if I leave the basement, I'll have to interact with my parents and my goal in life is to avoid this at all costs. However, the camera crew isn't here because Alice isn't here. It's possible this could be my only break for sustenance.

I play another race until the obscene noise emanating from my stomach is too much to ignore. I quietly creep up the stairs, hoping my parents decided to go along for Alice's crotch massage. It's disturbing that there's more than a slim chance that this is the case.

It isn't.

My mom's on the phone in the kitchen. I can pretty much tell who she's talking to.

"I was not! I was just saying that I liked the kitchen nook. I could definitely see you sitting at a little table in that nook in your pajamas. Sipping your coffee. Reading your DownBeat magazine. Do you still read that?"

She's swaying from side to side, her arm folded across her chest, practically nuzzling the phone against her cheek.

"Some things never change," she purrs into the phone. "Remember that time we snuck into that jazz club in the city. We were so high-"

I cough and she spins. She clears her throat. "High, yes, that price was a little high. I'll let the seller know you're not interested."

She hangs up before Mr. Cullen can respond. Oh, who is she trying to fool?

"Edward, honey, have you taken your medication today? How are you feeling?" She pockets her phone and folds her arms.

"Fine," I mutter. She pushes her hair out of her face, scratches her arm.

"Do you want Graziano's for dinner?" she asks and I shake my head no. Real slowly. So she knows how much I disapprove.

"Oh. Are you going out?" she asks and I repeat the same slow head shake. It's making her uncomfortable. Good. She should be uncomfortable.

"Okay, well, Alice wants eggplant so..." She trails off. I walk to the cabinet and get a cup. Fill it up with water and take a sip. "Do you want us to pick you up anything?"

"I could go for a burrito. Maybe from Miguel's?" I say and my mom sighs. "You seem to like that place an awful lot."

"Why were you even there, anyway? Weren't you supposed to be at school?" She narrows her eyes, presses her lips together.

"Touche," I murmur, surprised she caught that little detail. "Does Dad know?"

"No, I didn't tell him you were ditching class," she says with supreme satisfaction, like this makes up for everything.

"Not that Mom. About how you're in love with my teacher."

"Oh God, Edward. Stop being dramatic." She rolls her eyes.

"But Mom, how will I ever get my own reality show?" I whine. She looks at me for a long time. Fine lines decorate the corners of her green gray eyes. There are matching trails around her lips and between her eyebrows. When did she get so sad?

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better, honey," she chokes and then rushes upstairs. Wow, this is a new low, even for me. Making your mom cry is right up there with kicking puppies. It's just wrong.

I think my phone buzzes in my pocket. Yep, a response. It's enough to make me forget I'm an asshole.

_Nine more days. _

…

"Today could be the day," Alice says into the camera. She's sitting cross legged on the living room floor. She's the only person I know who meditates with a running commentary. She folds her hands over her massive melon of a gut and then breathes deeply through her nose.

"I'm taking deep cleansing breaths, trying to ease my body into relaxation." She inhales, her stomach expanding like a balloon about to burst and then lightly blows it away.

It's Christmas Eve. Alice's due date was yesterday.

"It's normal," she says when the producer asks her why her kid hasn't tried to escape her uterus yet. "First time moms are usually past due by the time they go into labor."

She's been fairly calm so far but I predict that as she gets closer and closer to having this kid, shit is going to hit the fan. I mean, she can't meditate away the fact a seven pound human is coming out of her vagina. Can she?

She breathes in again and then forces the air through her nose as she exhales. Even her breathing is self-righteous. It almost makes me want to focus on my book. I'm supposed to be reading this play about this dude, Ernest. There's all kinds of shadiness and double lives and it's supposed to be a comedy but I haven't laughed once. Besides, the premise is so stupid. The whole plot could have been avoided. I hate stories like that, where the whole plot is dependent on something I can completely obliterate with logic.

The camera crew wraps up their shot and they're packing up their equipment. Alice is done with her breathing and struggles to get up off the floor. She looks at me expectantly and I just stare back before one of the camera guys helps her up. I personally think she shouldn't get down there if she can't get up on her own. She can't just keep relying on people to pick her up off the ground when she's stuck.

"Really nice, Alice. Great job today," Aro says and then kisses her cheek. Great job doing what? Living? I wish I could get kudos just for living.

_Great job today, Edward. You didn't act like a douche. _

_You're awesome, Edward, because you brushed your teeth. _

_Nice hand job, you really went the distance with that one. _

Because I did. I had a really good dream this morning and it was all in color.

The rate at which Bella has been coloring my dreams is slightly alarming. And it's weird. She's amazing and everything but it's not this burning-a-hole-in-my-pants desire. Not like anything I've ever felt before. I can't stop wondering about what she's doing, what she's thinking, how she's feeling. I'd rather just hear what she has to say than spend my time thinking about her tits.

Which are kind of non-existent.

Before you judge, let me explain why this perfectly illustrates my point.

I always thought I was a breast man and I always thought that meant big breasts. But turns out, I don't care. I'd rather spend ten seconds with Bella's boobs than a lifetime with the most perfect rack in the whole world. That's gotta be love.

I miss her. And her boobs.

I wonder what she's doing right now. I pull out my phone and send her a text.

_Alice's due date was yesterday. What if she really has her baby on Christmas? It'll be like the second coming._

She responds right away. Again, shocking as all hell.

_I'm usually a fan of the second coming. _

Shit. She's going to go and get dirty on me. I might want to continue this textversation in a more private arena, if you know what I mean.

I grab a can of Pringles and head up to my room, locking the door behind me.

_Second coming? You mean you can do it twice? _

I thought the second coming was a myth, an old wives tale passed on from generation to generation in an effort to make men feel inferior to their battery operated competition.

_At least. _

Damn. She's a minx!

_Doesn't that get tiring? All that flicking?_

_That's why they invented vibrators. _

_You use a vibrator?_

_It's either that or carpal tunnel. _

Jesus, that's hot.

Yep, I have a boner.

_Are you using it right now? _

Please respond, please respond, please respond.

_I couldn't really carry it on an airplane. I'm stuck with some good old fashioned finger action. _

Oh God, this is insane. Why is she telling me this? And holy hell, I love this woman. Before I can respond, she texts me again.

_What about you? Have you thought about me in naughty ways? _

I can't really believe this is happening. I have never sexted before. I wonder if there's a handbook or something, so I don't step over some line in the sands of sexting boundaries.

_I'm seventeen. Almost all my thoughts of you end with my hand in your pants. _

I hesitate before I hit send. Is this too much? I did tell her I loved her. It's like I can't stop. I just can't stop exposing myself. Like Madonna.

I tap the screen and it's gone. My heart pounds, my breath chokes in my throat. I'm not going to be able to breathe until she messages me back. I wonder if anyone's ever died from sexting.

_Really? I thought you were a boob man. _

I exhale. She thinks I'm a man.

_That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. _

I keep thinking about what she said, how it's impossible for me to love her. How does she know that? I get that maybe she doesn't feel the same about me, but come on, don't diminish my feelings just because you feel weird about your own. That's not fair. It makes me feel like I'm completely foolish for feeling this way. It's not like I can help it. If anything it's her fault for being so damn appealing.

_Merry Christmas, Edward. I can't wait to come home. _

And just like that my heart explodes. That's all I see, the throbbing muscle bursting into a billion pieces. I type my response with a smug grin.

_I miss you too. _

I don't even need a reply. She can't wait to come home and I'm pretty sure it's because of me.

Christmas morning comes and I stay in my bed as long as possible. I can hear everyone awake downstairs but I can't bring myself to join in the festivities. I mean, who the fuck spends Christmas with a camera crew in their face? How much footage do they actually need? It's only an hour long show?

Finally, when I start to feel strangled by my sheets, I drag my ass out of bed and head to the shower. I'm barely out of my room and the camera crew's in my face. Which is strange. Usually they're primarily focused on the spawn of Satan and Rosemary herself, but today they are all up in my grill. How did they even know I was awake? Do they have spider sense or something? Is that something you learn in television production?

I ignore them the best I can and lock myself in the bathroom. I gotta piss something fierce but now I have performance anxiety because I'm sure they're waiting outside my door. I run the shower, so they can't hear me shit and then hop in the shower to rinse the masturbatory stench clean.

A good hour later, my dad's knocking on the bathroom door.

"Sport? Come down for breakfast. Mom and I have a surprise for you."

Could it be the obligatory socks and underwear I get every year? It might be a new toothbrush! Maybe there's a few chocolate Santas down there for me. It's for this reason, and this reason alone, that I venture into the living room where our stockings are hung by the chimney with care.

When I was little, Alice would sneak into my room at like two in the morning and she'd make me come down and see if the stockings were filled yet. She was too scared to do it herself. I wonder if she made Jasper come look this morning.

Alice sits on the couch with a blanket over her lap. She rubs her belly, like an old fat drunk. Jasper drinks a cup of coffee and he's wearing slippers. He's like a senior citizen trapped in a teenage body.

"Good morning, honey!" My mom is a ball of glee, just like she is every Christmas. She's already dressed in one of her red and green sweaters. And then there's the cameras, mildly recording the entire affair. I think I'm the only one who notices them anymore. Everyone else acts like they're a permanent fixture. Like furniture.

My dad tumbles down the stairs after me and then claps a hand on my back.

"Look who's finally decided to join the living," he says and my mom laughs. Alice rolls her eyes and bounces her leg up and down. She's eager to get to those presents.

I force a smile and plop down on the couch next to Jasper. He gives me one of those head nods, like kids do these days and I answer with a salute. It's nonverbal sarcasm at its finest.

My mom scurries around, passing out gifts and like always, she overspent. I think she feels like Christmas is her opportunity to make a case for capitalism. Or a free check to buy whatever she wants. Either way, we always have a ton of presents, usually shit I don't really need or clothes I only wear when I don't have anything clean. Or like if I'm going to a funeral or something.

This year, though, I'm noticing that I don't have the large stack of gifts that usually graces my feet and I'm wondering if it's because I've been such a dick lately. Could it be my parents are trying to teach me a life lesson here? Am I being punished because my Christmas spirit has been less than generous? Did I finally make the naughty list?

Yeah, I didn't get anyone gifts. Except Bella. I got her this t-shirt that says "I run like a girl". I thought she'd appreciate that.

I glance at the piles and then at my dad and he's smirking like a fucking son-of-a-bitch. Something is definitely up. He's just bursting with joy. Why does he look so delighted? I'm about to find out.

"I bet you're wondering why you're short a few gifts this year," he says to me. He walks into the middle of the room. Like there's a spotlight there or something. "I think Santa left one of your presents in the driveway."

And then he winks at me. Right, because Santa isn't real.

I have no idea what he's talking about but I look out the front window anyway. Sitting in the driveway, with a big red bow like one of those Lexus commercials, is a minivan.

I'm still confused and then my mom's behind me. She wraps me in a hug and kisses my cheek.

"Merry Christmas, baby!" she says and then it clicks. They bought me a minivan for Christmas. A minivan. A Honda. Alice got a Camaro and they buy me a minivan.

"Are you fucking serious with this shit?" I blurt and my dad laughs. He thinks this is excitement I'm displaying. I assure you, it is not.

"We know you've been driving Daddy's old Volvo and thought maybe you'd like something a bit more fresh," my mom giggles and then looks at my dad with fondness. _We're such thoughtful parents. _

I am stunned. I don't know what to say. My initial reaction is rage. This isn't a gift for me, it's for the family. Specifically, Alice's family. Why would a seventeen year old need a minivan? Trick question; I wouldn't. A seventeen year old with a kid? That's a different story.

I look over at Alice and she's picking her nails. She gets it and she can't even look me in the face. I don't know if it's pity or smugness or irritation, but Alice won't look at me. The only one oblivious it seems, is Jasper. He peeks out the window and nods in approval.

"Sweet ride, dude. Those vans are bitchin'. Does it have stow and go?" Jasper asks my dad and my dad nods emphatically. Wow, he went all out, didn't he?

Dammit. This is the kind of moral dilemma that's been plaguing me ever since that rainbow colored ball of wisdom walked into my life. What would Bella do?

She'd probably smile and say thank you. Because she's polite like that. But she'd be honest. She's always honest. Probably the most genuine person I've ever met.

My parents huddle together, my dad's arm around my mom and they're waiting for my approval, for my praise, for my declarations of overwhelming joy. And every morsel of my being wants to fucking go off on them. They're all waiting for it. I can tell by the way the camera man eagerly moves into position. Everyone can see it coming.

Except my parents. They are truly proud of themselves here. And if I blow up, if I freak out, they won't get it. They won't understand why. It's pointless, really. They're too fucking dumb. It'd be wasted words and I'd look like a douche. I'm almost wondering if that producer guy put this in their head. It'd make for great television, that's for sure. To see the volatile brother throw a tantrum and fuck up Christmas, just like I did on Thanksgiving. I can see the previews now. _Next time on 16 and Pregnant, Alice's oppositional brother threatens entire family on Christmas_.

I won't give them the satisfaction.

"Thanks guys. But I'm kind of attached to my old Volvo. Why don't you give it to Alice? For the baby," I say and the look of my parent's face is priceless.

They're crestfallen, confused, mad even, that I won't accept this gift. But there's not a word they can say. Not in front of the cameras, at least. Because that would make _them _the dicks. Not me.

Being a grown-up is so hard.

...

A/N:

Hi lovlies. Sorry this is so super late. But I love you. And you're cute.

**LightStarDusting** betas and **Boo** prereads. They're cute too.

Thank you so much for reading and for the recommendations and tweets and things. I don't always get to respond, but I appreciate it just the same.


	15. Brenda's Got a Baby

CH 15 - Brenda's Got a Baby

…

"I'm not even dilated. My cervix isn't thinning, the rose hips has done nothing and I just want this kid out of me!" Alice was due six days ago.

She's been walking the malls, eating spicy food, and taking all these herbal voodoo witch doctor concoctions. She's trying to force herself into labor but nothing is working. It's all been documented of course, just adding another dimension to the drama. Her port-a-tub has been inflated since right after Christmas. I'm not going to lie, I've thought about breaking it in. It's not like anyone will be able to use it after she drops a kid in it.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask and toss another cheeseball in my mouth. "Go through that door, right there. There's a shotgun on the table to the left. Yeah. Pick it up."

Jasper's discovering the wonderful world of zombie annihilation. His movements are kind of choppy but his reflexes are decent. With some proper coaching, we could pad his gamer score. Maybe get him his own Xbox live account.

"Can I go out this window?" Jasper asks and Alice rolls her eyes.

"Are you even listening to me?" She says and Jasper hits the pause.

"Of course, hot momma." He leans over and kisses her bulging mass of fetus.

Jasper's not so bad, I guess.

"The fall won't hurt your health," I interrupt and Jasper's back in the game. I navigate him through the checkpoint and show him where the health packs are. Yep, he's coming along nicely.

"I saw Mike at Target," Alice remarks.

"So?" I chew another cheeseball.

"So, he looks good. He was really nice. He was with someone." Alice sips her go-into-labor tea. She's trying to get a rise out of me. It's not going to work. Mostly because I've already heard all this. Bella told me all about Mike's new special friend. His name is Randy and he goes to Kennedy. He's one of Alice's theater friends.

"I talked to Bella today," Alice tries.

This is a trap.

"That's cool," I mutter. My leg bounces. My eye twitches.

"She called to send good vibes, you know, for the birth and everything," she says.

"That was nice of her," I respond. Good job, Edward. Keep it together, man.

"Yeah," she says. "She's in Washington with her family. She's been there all week. Her uncle lives there."

"I know!" I snap. Like she knows more about Bella than I do?

"Really? How much do you know?" Alice asks sweetly. Dodge, Edward, dodge!

"Don't you have some kegels to do or something?"

"Bella's really cool, Edward. Don't mess with her," Alice orders and now I'm offended.

"Why would you assume I'm the one messing with _her_? She's the one being all nonchalant and shit. I mean, I told her-" Oh my God, she's an evil mastermind.

"What, what did you say?" Alice's eyes twinkle. She might piss herself from sheer excitement. And you know, because there's a kid sitting on her bladder.

"Where's your camera crew? I thought they'd be actually filming inside your uterus by now," I deflect. It's what I'm best at.

"They went to interview Willow, my midwife. I guess they figure nothing spectacular's going to happen without her." Alice is so predictable. Her desire to explain herself far outweighs any concern she might have for others.

"Dammit. I died," Jasper tosses the controller onto the couch. "Now I have to start over from that checkpoint. That's fucking stupid."

"I know, it's one of the shitty things about this game. Otherwise, it's pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah, I've never really been into zombies, but this is seriously freaking me out. I legitimately feel panicked when a horde starts chasing me," Jasper says and Alice is exasperated.

"Oh my God," she says to him and he pushes his hair behind his ears. "Who are you?"

"What?" he asks with a shrug. Alice rolls herself off the couch and storms up the stairs. Well, storms is bit of an overstatement. It's more of a slow moving cold front.

"Bitch," I mutter.

"Dude, not cool. Can't you see she's dealing with a lot here? Cut your little sister some slack." Jasper shakes his head in disapproval and marches up the stairs after her.

Damn. I just got schooled. By Jasper, baby daddy extraordinaire.

I pick up the controller and finish the level. As I play, I vaguely become aware of this twinging in my gut. What is that? Indigestion? Nope. It's fucking guilt. And it won't go away. Shit. Now I have to go make things better.

I climb the basement steps and walk into the kitchen. Alice is sitting at the table, clacking away at her laptop. She's probably updating her Facebook. _Ugh, I hate when my vaginal walls just sit there and do nothing. They're so lazy. Also, I hate my brother._

She looks up when I walk in the room and rolls her eyes, like my existence is irritating. Then she's back to the clackity clack.

"So..." I drag out the word because trying to find something to talk about with my sister is like trying to find the least painful guillotine. No matter what you choose, you end up without a head.

"Edward, just stop. Please? I can't do this right now," she says. She closes her eyes and pulls at her hair. It's longer now, she can't quite get it into a mohawk anymore. She kind of looks like one of those strippers from the twenties. What were they called? Fappers? Flippers?

"Can't do what? Talk to me? It might get you worked up enough to send you into labor," I point out and she's still pulling at her hair. She twists the dark strands into spirals on top of her head. That's crazy cat lady behavior, right there.

"Look, I just wanted to say, that I'm..." I start but then Alice presses her lips together. She's waiting, leaning back in her chair, her hands folded over her belly. This is going to be harder than I thought.

"I'm sorry I've been so dickish lately," I finally blurt. I expect her to gloat, really rub in the fact I'm apologizing but she doesn't. Instead, she starts to cry. She blinks a couple times. Sniffs. Dabs at the corner of her eye. Then her face scrunches all up and her mouth trembles. I look around. Can Jasper hear her crying? Doesn't he have some kind of spider sense when it comes to her hormonal discharges? How dare he leave her unattended in such a fragile state!

I lightly pat her shoulder and then, suddenly, she's snot-sobbing into my flannel shirt.

"What if I can't do it? What if I never go into labor?" Alice gulps and I don't know what to say. It's not like I'm one for inspirational speeches anyway. Throw in the fact I can hardly stand my sister and you've got one awkward conversation cocktail.

"There's only one way that baby can go. It'll happen, you can't really stop it," I mumble. That sounds logical, right?

"Oh my God!" she wails. Okay, I guess logic isn't what she needs right now. Anything to stop her from wiping her snotty nose on my shirt again. God, she's an ugly crier. She scrunches her nose up and presses her lips together. Like Ozzy Osbourne just ate a lemon.

"Look, you're going to be fine. Awesome even. You can't lose. You have an entourage here to help you and you're on television. Nothing _really _bad ever happens on television. It's all smoke and mirrors, right?"

She sighs and then hiccups a couple times, trying to regain control of her emotions.

"No one's going to help me. Not really." She's quiet now, her hands are trembling.

"Are you kidding? What about Jasper? And Mom and Dad? You got them to buy you a minivan and you didn't even have to ask," I point out. What the hell is she talking about? Everyone is up Alice's ass. How much attention does one person need?

"Jasper tries," she says. "But he's just so...sixteen. Mom and Dad are completely infantile and the show, they're all about me right now but as soon as they've had their fill, they'll be moving on to someone else. Some other kid who's got herself in a predicament they can exploit. I know this. I'm not stupid. I know they don't really care about me, Edward. But you do. Or you did."

She wipes her face and then blows her nose into a dish towel. As much as I wish that was caught on camera, I'm grateful they're not here.

"I know you're ashamed of me. But you're my big brother. I've always looked up to you. For as long as I can remember, you've taken care of me. And now that you don't want to...it's just kind of scary."

"I'm not ashamed of you," I say because my first instinct is to defend myself. "I'm jealous. You're cool. You have lots of friends. And you're famous."

"I don't have any friends. They think I'm a stupid slut. I know, because they told me. As soon as I got on that show, they had no qualms about putting me in my place."

"Really? Man, what bitches."

"I know, right?"

"You're still Mom and Dad's favorite," I say and she nods.

"I know. But it's not because they respect me. Not like you."

"They don't respect me! They hate me. I feel like I could disappear and they wouldn't even notice. Why would they respect a dick like me?"

"You're not a dick, not really. And if you disappeared, how would Mom flirt with Mr. Cullen?" She grins and my stomach turns. How much does she know? I'm guessing by her casual attitude, it's not much.

It must be showing on my face because her smile falters. I almost tell her, too. She should know. If she knew something like that and didn't tell me, I'd be fucking furious. But she doesn't need to deal with that right now. Not with the impending birth of the messiah.

"So, after all this is over, can we go back to hating each other?" I ask and she grins. She knows I'm kidding.

"Of course. This is just the hormones talking. Besides, I need your drama. I want to reach five thousand followers on Twitter." She wipes the mascara from under her eyes and smooths her hair into place. "And Mom and Dad don't hate you. You don't need them and they know it."

It's like this light bulb goes off in my head. I don't need them. I don't _need _them. I don't need _them_. My feet feet feel light and I swear I've grown wings. Like a damn Red Bull commercial.

I can't wait to tell Bella.

…

_So, do you got big plans tonight? _

Me and New Years have a somewhat turbulent relationship. In the past, I've always had big plans for winter vacation, I was going to reinvent myself in those two weeks. I envisioned going back to school and all the ladies and some of the dudes would gawk at how fucking badass I had become. Some of those fantasies ended with me whisking Rosalie Hale away on a Ducati. Before that, it was me and the guys running the streets like a motorcycle gang. And before that, I would peel out on my BMX, riding wheelies all the way down the street. I've always known there was something greater inside me. All I needed were two weeks to figure it out. Perfect it. My classmates would forget they ever knew me. I would cease to be Edweird. Which, incidentally, is an actual nickname bestowed upon me by my oh-so-clever best friend. I could be Ed. Or Eddie. Or Eduardo. Except Edward Anthony Masen the third. I never wanted to be that.

By the way, how boring do you have to be to name your child after yourself? Like my parents couldn't think of anything better so they just went with the default. Does the world really need _three_ Edward Anthony Masens?

Anyway, it never worked out the way I planned. One year, I dyed my hair black. Alice talked me into it, said goth was making a comeback. I looked like Robert Smith on crack. Seriously, a giant, skinny, Robert Smith. Minus the red lipstick. It made my throat all dry and scratchy.

This year isn't any different. I have big plans. I've been thinking of all the things I want to do differently next year. And I realize, with a faint amount of panic, that this is the last time I will ever have this opportunity. There won't be another chance to reinvent myself. This is it. Next year, I'll be a grown-up. An adult. Stable and secure. I'm not ready for that yet. I still haven't decided who I want to be.

_Nope. I'm probably going to play video games until I pass out. What are you doing? _

Probably nothing. I don't know anyone who spends New Years with their family and doesn't get caught up in a tumultuous game of Scrabble. Or worse Cribbage.

_We're heading into the city. Big fireworks show at the space needle. _

Huh, that's kind of cool.

_Then maybe a party with these people Rose knows. Some guy she met skiing. _

_Do you ski? _

_No, I can't coordinate two sticks. I leave that to my sister. I just like one big one. _

_Are we still talking about snow sports? _

_Snow sports? I was talking about penises, obviously. _

I love it when Bella messages me right back. Especially when I'm being inappropriate and she knows it.

_So, what are these people like? You're not going to kiss any of them, are you? _

_They're my sister's people. Naturally, I'm going to use them to buy me alcohol, not for sexual gratification. _

She didn't answer the question.

It's not like we're together or anything. We talk a lot. We hang out. Occassionally, she kisses me and tells me she wants to know me forever. Who does that kind of shit? Just friends? I think not.

But honestly, I have no claim on her. I can't really be telling her what to do. Something tells me, she wouldn't let me get very far with that anyway.

_I thought you didn't have sex. _

_You don't have to have sex to be sexually gratified. _

_Are you gratifying yourself right now? _

_What do think this is, the masturbation nation? I don't have time for that. I have space needles to visit and somewhat attractive people to bum drinks off of. _

I don't like this. I don't like it one bit. And I can't even say anything to her about it.

I throw my phone and it lands somewhere on the floor. I pull my blanket up around my head and try to fall asleep. I don't even think it's nine yet. But I'm bored and tired and sick to my stomach.

I'm just about to fall asleep when someone crashes through my door. My eyes fly open as Jasper shuts the door behind him. He's pacing, his hands pulling through his hair and he just keeps mumbling something over and over. It's kind of freaking me out and I try to feign sleep so maybe he'll leave but he doesn't. Doesn't say anything, just keeps pacing and pulling and mumbling. Maybe I should slap him.

"Dude!" I say, trying to get his attention and he stops as soon as he hears my voice.

"It's happening. She's having contractions. I can't believe this is happening," he keeps saying over and over.

"Really? You read eight different books and they all told you this would happen," I mutter and rub my eyes.

"I just...I don't know what to do. She's down there and she's mad. Like really, really mad at me. I can't do it." Jasper paces some more and now I can hear the commotion going on downstairs. I walk to the door and crack it open and it's like daylight. There are lights on everywhere, camera men running cords and bustling about, like their very livelihood depends on their cinematic rendering of my sister's vagina.

Jasper's sitting on the edge of my bed now, his leg convulsing up and down. He's staring at this Louie Armstrong poster I got last year at the jazz festival out in Hyde park. My dad made me go, thought it'd be a bonding experience. I don't even like jazz. Big band, swing, ska, that's my thing. He doesn't even know me.

I grab Jasper's shoulders and give him a little shake, because he looks like he's in a daze. Louie's puffed out cheeks _are _pretty mesmerizing. He has an amazing purse.

"Hey! Hey! Jasper, hey!" I shout and Jasper just shakes his head, like if he denies it enough it will be true. "Jasper! Your baby's coming and my sister needs you. The show is depending on you. America needs you, Jasper."

This seems to snap him out of his daze.

"America?" he asks, confused. I don't know how these people keep forgetting about the cameras.

"Yes. America. Pull yourself together, man. You want to sit in that huge tub, don't you?" I ask and Jasper nods.

"Yeah, that's right. Where's Alice? Is she okay?"

"I don't know, man. She might be in the tub already. You'd better get down there and see what's going on."

"I don't want to see it," he says, almost in a whisper. "I don't want to watch. I told her I would be there, to catch the baby and cut the cord, but I don't want to see it."

Ah, I see. It's totally understandable. I don't know if Jasper even saw a vagina before my sister and now he's going to see a kid coming out of one. It's damn near traumatic.

"I know. I feel the same way. But if you sit behind Alice, you won't have to see anything. You can give the illusion of watching, without having to actually watch. And these things happen so fast, you probably won't even have time to watch, really. By the time she realizes you didn't cut the cord thingy, it'll be over. Oh! Didn't you say there was a chemical that makes her forget things? I bet she won't remember a thing."

"That's right," he whispers. "I can do this. Thanks, man." Jasper throws his arms around me and squeezes. Man's a hugger.

"I can do this," he says again and then claps me on the back before leaving the room. Well, my good deed for the century is done. Glad that's over. I can go back to being a self-absorbed asshole now.

I lay back down on my bed, but there's too much shit going on downstairs to ignore. I can hear Alice wailing, not a bad scream or anything, just this low, monotone moan. Like she's meditating. She's walking laps around the house too. I know because I can hear her slippered feet padding along the wood floor.

I expect my mom or dad to come up and make me come watch, but they don't. They're preoccupied, I guess, but it's like I may as well not even be here. An hour passes and it's kind of quiet. She couldn't have had the kid yet, there'd be way more noise than this.

I walk downstairs into the living room. The cameras are nowhere to be found. Alice is seated on a yoga ball at the coffee table, rocking back and forth. My parents and Jasper are playing cards. 31. It's my sister's favorite.

"You're playing cards?" I ask even though it's pretty fucking obvious. They're playing a game. Like Alice's isn't probably having a child today.

"Edward!" my mom says, delighted. "You're still up! Happy New Year!"

She gets up to give me a hug. I'm pretty sure she's been drinking champagne. She's way too happy to see me.

Alice stops her rocking and closes her eyes. She grips the edge of the table and Jasper lazily rubs her back. She bats him away and he drops his hand. She breathes heavily, like she's blowing up a balloon. Or huffing. Yep, she looks like she's huffing.

"How you doing?" I ask her once the huffing has passed.

"I'm delightful, how are you?" she asks but there's a twinge of sarcasm in her voice. I guess it was a stupid question.

"No kid yet, huh?" I ask. What is with the dumb ass questions tonight? Or this morning. Whatever.

She stares at me like I'm an idiot and I smile stupidly. She tries to hold out but she can't help it. My smile is infectious. Even to snotty little sisters in labor.

"Way to go, Captain Obvious."

"Careful, you don't want me to get oppositional," I say and Alice snorts.

"You're an idiot."

"Well, you're fat," I say and now she's full on laughing. Her laughter turns into another contraction though and Jasper jots down the time while she grips the table and rolls around on the ball, huffing her little heart out.

"Three minutes apart," Jasper says and Alice nods.

"We don't have to call Willow until they're less than a minute," Alice says.

"She's not even here? Why isn't she here?" I exclaim and Alice raises her eyebrows. "What? You could blow at any minute."

"It takes hours. She'll be here in the morning to check things out." Alice calmly plays a card and then Jasper knocks on the table.

"Already? Are you're shitting me?" she says and Jasper gives her this goofy shrug.

"What can I say, baby? Luck is on my side tonight." He grins while my mom and dad take their last turns. They all flip over their cards and sure enough, Jasper's on top with thirty-one, all spades.

Alice throws her cards and him and he laughs as he collects his winnings. My mom grabs the deck and shuffles.

"Should I deal you in?" she asks and I shrug and join them on the floor.

"Can I borrow a dollar?" I ask and she rolls her eyes. She pulls a bill from her purse on the floor and gives me four chips.

She's dealing me cards when Alice explodes. Water all over her stupid yoga ball. She freezes, her mouth formed into this look of shock that I've never before seen on my sister's face. And believe me, she's shocked and dismayed a lot.

"Holy shit," she says but she won't move. My parents are stunned and I'm fighting the urge to upchuck. Like literally, I'm choking it back.

"Don't you dare throw up." Alice grits her teeth and then she's gripping the table again. Another contraction. Jasper's on his feet in a hurry, checking the time and writing it down.

"Two minutes," he says and Alice isn't so calm this time. She grunts as she huffs and it's starting to get a little too national geographic in here. Plus it smells like uterus. I didn't know what uterus smelled like before today. Thanks, sis, for that delightful piece of information. I'll be in my room being celibate.

When the contraction passes, Jasper helps her to the guest room. I can hear her on her phone with whom I presume to be Willow. I don't know who else she'd be calling at two in the morning.

My mom starts cleaning up the uterus juice and my dad chooses to pick up the game. And he calls himself a doctor.

I'm not sure what to do so I grab my coat and shove my feet into my boots by the door so I can head outside to the trailer. I'm guessing the camera people are going to be pissed they missed such a vital and hilarious breaking of the bag.

It's fucking freezing outside, the grass is frozen over and there's ice on the sidewalk. I crunch through the grass so I won't slip and knock on the trailer. I'm standing out here freezing my ass off and these dicks are sleeping. Can't they hear me fucking knocking?

I knock again and after another minute or so, one of the guys answers the door. I think his name is Chad or something. Such a douchebag name.

"Yeah?" he asks groggy and raspy. Probably pissed I pulled him from his gentle slumber to witness the birth of the antichrist. I'd be irritated too.

"Um, my sister's water thing broke. I think they're calling her special birthing friend."

"No shit!" He's awake now. "Thanks, man. We'll be right in." He turns around and he's shouting out commands, rousing the troops. I stand there as they bustle out of the trailer, adjusting their equipment and pulling on sweaters. I follow them into the house and I must not be paying attention to my footing because suddenly I'm on my ass.

Stupid fucking ice. And it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch too. Every time I move, I get this shooting pain up my back. My flannel pants are slowly freezing to the sidewalk and not one of these assholes offers to help me up.

I roll over and push myself up on all fours. I'm crawling through the front door when my dad stops to help me up.

"Edward? What the hell are you doing?" he asks.

"I dropped an earring," I say. He helps me hobble over to the couch and I try to sit but that just makes it worse. It's probably just a bruise but shit, my ass feels broken.

"Did you slip on the ice?" My dad guesses because well, it's not that uncommon. I nod and wince as I turn onto my side.

"Probably a bruised tailbone. I'll get you a heating pad and some painkillers," he says and I open my mouth to refute, just because I hate doing what he says. Painkillers would be nice, though. I can hear Alice yelping and breathing in the guest room and I'm guessing she'd like some painkillers too.

Ha, sucker. That's what she gets for going all natural. I hope the cameras are catching every bit of this. I'm going to need those sound bites for future blackmail opportunities.

"Here. Take these." My dad hands me two pills and I swallow them down without dispute. He lifts up my shirt to put the heating pad on my back, but I intercept his gentle caress. There are just some things that don't fly, I don't care how nurturing he's trying to be.

"I can do it," I snap and he rolls his eyes but gives me the heated strap of canvas. Smells good, too. Like lavender or something.

"I used to wipe your butt, you know. You ain't got nothing I haven't seen before." He chuckles and walks away, leaving me and my broken ass to wallow in agony.

Alright, I'm not in agony. Those meds are pretty sweet. But Alice has a whole world of hurt going on in that room. It sounds like a torture chamber. Lots of heavy breathing and my mom keeps calling her baby. My family is going to ruin porn for me forever. I'll have to start using normal things for sexual gratification. Like the Victoria's Secret catalog. Or Spanish talk-shows.

Willow arrives, leaving a cloud of patchouli in her wake and then I hear the water running. Alice's getting in the tub. I'm gonna miss the placenta soup.

I lay there a couple more minutes and I'm starting to fade when my mom comes rushing through the living room. She's humming quietly, digging around in the kitchen for something and emerges with a lighter. Probably for scented aromatherapy labor inducing candles.

"Hi honey," she says and doesn't even stop to see if I'm okay. I mean, Alice has a whole team to assist her. I'm laying here with a broken tailbone and no one's lighting me candles.

I hold perfectly still, thinking that it might all be over but all I can hear is a light splash of water and some Creep. My sister is birthing her baby to Radiohead.

I'm almost disgusted to admit it, but curiosity gets the better of me. I don't have to go inside the room, I can just stand at the door. Besides, the amount of material I could possibly receive from this one incident is paramount. This could fuel my stand up comedy routine well into the next decade.

I roll off the couch, and wobble to the door frame. I peek in the door and my mom is sitting on the bed, reading one of her shitty romance novels. Really, let's call them what they are. Girly porn. What kind of world do we live in where mediocre girly porn is a NY Times bestseller but a couple of senators can't fondle their interns? Such a double standard.

My mom looks up as I walk into the room. "Where's dad?" I ask and she looks at over the tops of her glasses.

"He went to bed. He told me to wake him when she starts pushing."

I look warily into the bathroom. There's this huge blue tub and I can see my sister's head just popping over the edge. Jasper's sitting behind her and he's shirtless. Willow has her hand in the water and just as she's pulling her arm out of the water, it all registers what I'm witnessing.

"Whoa! Stop right there!" I scream and throw my hands up over my face. This causes my back to spasm and I double over, falling onto the bed and clutching at my tailbone.

"Edward!" my mom screeches and helps me onto my side. "What happened?"

Before I can explain, Alice starts another contraction. She's breathing and cussing under her breath and all I can hear is Jasper coaching. "Visualize, babe. Imagine the baby moving through the birth canal. Imagine your body spreading to..."

This is when I vomit.

"Jesus Christ!" my mom shouts and she backs away from me. Like I'm the exorcist or something.

I'm guessing it's probably a combination of the pain meds on an empty stomach and witnessing some lady's hand up my sister's vagina. And the word _spreading_. No man should ever hear that word in reference to his sister.

"How many bodily fluids am I going to have to clean up today? This is why I wanted to go to a hospital. They have people who do this for you there." My mom's muttering under her breath but I can still hear her. Too bad the camera crew can't.

There's a sloshing around and then the camera crew's backing out of the bathroom. Willow rushes past them and is startled to find me on the bed.

"You have to move," she says tersely and behind her is my sister. She's wearing this moomoo thing and Jasper's helping her walk.

"Edward! Move!" Alice screeches and I was wrong before. I'm not the exorcist. She is. I half expect her head to start spinning.

I try to jump up, but my body is not having it so I take my time rolling off the bed and savoring every moment.

"These sheets need to be changed," Willow murmurs and Alice looks like she's going to explode. "Esme, can you get me some clean linens, please?"

My mom throws down the towel she was using to sop up my puke and pulls the sheets off the bed, but leaves this plastic lining thing. It looks like something a serial killer might use. She races out of the room and is back in a flash with new sheets.

"I can't believe you did this to me," Alice growls through clenched teeth but another contraction hits her and her disbelief turns to extreme discomfort. It's like Christmas in Karmaland.

"Where's your discomfort, baby? What number?" Jasper says, trying to console my sister but she just groans and pushes his face away from hers.

"Oh, just shut up. It's not like it matters! You can't sympathize. Have you ever pooped a watermelon? Because that's my discomfort level." The cameras are focused on Alice's swollen face. "For Christ's sake, Mom, hurry the fuck up!"

My mom pauses and gives my sister a deadly glare but continues to calmly tuck the sheets under the mattress. I can't wait until Alice finds out she said poop on camera.

"Find your center, Alice. Deep breaths." Willow attempts to salvage the situation as she leads Alice to the bed. Once she's settled, Willow turns her voodoo on me.

"You're going to need to leave. Your bad energy is stalling her labor." I can't help it, I laugh in her face.

"_My_ bad energy? Could it be that the child has finally realized the extreme hell it's being born into and changed its mind? I'd have stalled my own labor too if I'd have known this was what was coming."

"Edward! Get out!" my sister screams as she clutches her belly and I don't need to be asked again. Besides, I can watch the whole thing later.

On cable television.

...

**A/N:**

So, I know it's been a while.And I apologize for the delay. Some shit's gone down in Camland and I had to do a little ass kicking. I haven't forgotten about this baby, though it is taking me longer than I'd like to find my focus. I appreciate all the messages and sweet notes of encouragement but have no fear, I will prevail!

**LightStarDusting** beta's and she knows how to make a gal feel hot. I also want to thank **MisforMarisa** for her expertise in home births. You gals are straight killa' yo!


	16. If My Homie Calls

CH 16 - If My Homie Calls

...

"They named him Ezra. They're setting this baby up for a career in gothic horror. Anne Rice will be thrilled."

"I think it's a nice sentiment. Similar to Esme. What was it going to be if he were a girl?" I love it when people ask me this question.

"Ezra," I answer with great delight. "I told you, my sister's a sick fuck."

"She is not. She's self-aware. There's nothing wrong with that." Bella has this annoying habit of killing all my negative perceptions with logic.

"If only she'd use her powers for good and not evil," I respond and roll over. My back spasms and my face presses the screen of my phone. The line goes dead. This is the third time this has happened tonight. I dial her back but it goes straight to voicemail.

"Fuck!" This is the first time I've talked to Bella since she's been in Washington. Actually _talking_, not the fucking game of guess-my-emotion that is texting.

"Edward!" There's a rap at my door and the new mommy dearest is shouting in that whispery kind of way. "Ezra is sleeping. If you wake him up, I swear to God I will murder you."

I'd get up to give her shit but my butt has been killing me all week. Not exactly your most hardcore of injuries. Bruised tailbones aren't very badass.

Luckily, I don't have to worry about granting the battleaxe permission to enter my room.

"I'm serious. I can hear you all the way downstairs," Alice says in a whisper now. "What's wrong with your face?"

"I'm growing a beard," I say and scratch my chin. I decided to stop shaving while I'm on vacation. I had to change something. I couldn't go back to school exactly the same as when I'd left.

"It looks ridiculous. You look like a homeless person," she says and I can't even argue. My facial hair is awkward, just like the rest of me.

"You don't look so hot, yourself," I chuckle and she flips me off. Her hair is flat and oily, like she's been bathing in Crisco. She's been wearing the same pair of sweatpants all week and she's walking like she's got a wad of cotton up her ass. Which may not be that far off.

Apparently, Alice had huge issues with her lady business. She has to use this squishy round toilet seat so she can pee without ripping a stitch. Yeah, we get to share it because I can't shit without feeling like I'm being stabbed continuously in the ass. Thank God for stool softeners.

Soon as Alice is out of my room, there's a text message on my phone.

_Going to dinner. Then packing. See you soon!_

Bella rarely uses text speak. I love that I don't have to decode her messages.

That's right, she _will _be seeing me soon. Yet, I'm not exactly sure how soon. Like right off the plane soon? Should I go to the airport? Should I wait at her house?

These are the thoughts rummaging through my head and each one is like a train wreck of opportunity that I can't quite pass up. The worst part is that I know these are all crazy ideas and yet, they're completely rational. That's psychopathic behavior, right there. Yep, being in love is like being a serial killer. They should put that on a greeting card, "I love you like a serial killer." Or "You're so beautiful, I could wear your face."

Bella really is beautiful, but not in that traditional kind of way. It's like everything about her shines out, like a fucking rainbow.

And just like that I need to rub one out.

I've resorted to maturbating while I'm on the toilet now. I know, it's a new low, but I've just found it quicker and cleaner if I shoot my load right into the bowl. I made a new record this week, three minutes and twenty-seven seconds. And that was watching porn on my phone. Imagine what I could do with a whole laptop.

I need to get out of this house. Walk around a bit, clear my head. I don't know why I'm so nervous, but Bella's homecoming is causing a mixture of nervous excitement and it's manifesting itself in nausea and the need to constantly whack off. It's all very confusing and if I ever do get to have sex that I remember, I hope no permanent damage has been done. I googled excessive masturbation. Didn't look too serious. Obviously, it wasn't a deterrent.

I head over to Target to pick-up some antacids and CornNuts. I go back to school on Monday. I need to restock my supply.

It's pretty fricking windy. Like the kind of wind that feels like it's going to knock my car into oncoming traffic. I park and mosey down the aisles and I find myself meandering through the patio furniture. They have a really sparse display up right now because it's winter. Mostly old, picked over Christmas decorations but you know, it's January so they're pulling out the bathing suits. So lame. Why does Target put out their summer display in January? Every summer when I'm looking for trunks so I can go down to the lake, there's nothing but old man trunks. The ugly Hawaiian print kind with the elastic waistband and netted underwear.

Anyway, I take a seat on one of the swinging benches and open a bag of CornNuts that I just picked up. Relax, I'm going to buy them. I start to crunch when this dude sits down next to me. He's got on his obligatory khakis and red polo and his hair's all styled and frosted and shit.

Mike raises his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth twitches. He opens up a comic book he's holding, and it looks like _The Walking __Dead. _ I'm sure you've seen them destroying it on television.

I pop a few CornNuts into my mouth and for some reason my chewing sounds abnormally loud. So I chew slower, try not to make too much noise. I offer some to Mike and he sticks his fingers into the small bag, fighting for a few kernels and he snorts because he can't really get a grasp on any of them. Finally, I just shake them out onto his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and chews. The loudest fucking crunching I think I've ever heard. But it doesn't fucking matter. It's done, all of it and we sit there on that bench, swinging and crunching CornNuts. Like we never missed a beat.

After that, everything makes sense. I need to tell Bella how I feel about her. Not just with words, that obviously didn't work out to my advantage. I need to show her. Prove it to her. Because I like being with her more than I like anything. More than zombie comic books, Dr. Pepper, or CornNuts.

And if that's not love, I don't know what is.

...

"Edward!"

I faintly hear my name off in the distance. It's ruining probably the best dream I've had in a long time. I don't even really know what's going on and it's not dirty or anything, just one of those dreams that's comfortable and warm and feels like relief.

"Edward!"

There it is again. The dreamkiller. I think it's Alice but I can't be sure. I can't wait to tell her she sounds just like Mom.

I skip downstairs, ready to crush any morsel of self-esteem she has left when I'm met with my mother. Shit, now that's funny.

"Edward, honey, Mr. Cullen is on the phone. He wants to speak to you," she says. Her hair's pulled up into a bun and her face is free of makeup but she's absolutely glowing as she hands me her cell phone. He's calling me on her cell phone. How is this not weird?

I stare at the phone in her hand and raise my eyebrows and my mom's eyes change. I take the phone from her and she walks out of the room. That's right, avoidance is the best way to solve a problem.

"Hello?" I say into the phone and sure enough, Mr. Cullen's on the line.

"Edward, hello. I was just calling to confirm the status of your injury and to see when you will be back for marching. Are you going to be available for the spring schedule?"

"Um, I think so." I'd really like to march this Spring. It's the best schedule. We get to do all the parades and theme parks. Last year we went to Six Flags. Spent the day flicking pennies at unsuspecting victims.

"Have you been cleared by your physician?" he asks.

"Yeah." Lies, all lies!

"Then we'd love to have you back. Bring your instrument to class Monday." Mr. Cullen sounds pleased. Almost too pleased. Like he wants to talk to my mom again.

"Cool," I say. Click. Fake click, actually. Touch screens don't click. But, make no mistake,I hung up on that fool.

"Here." I walk into the kitchen and toss the phone to my mom. She looks at the screen and scoffs.

"Edward!" She sounds like my sister.

"What? He hung up." I shrug and she walks away.

"Did you want to talk to him still?" I ask and she just keeps walking. I should stop. A decent son would just leave it be.

"Maybe he had other moms to call," I shout after her and she stops in the doorway. Like a tornado of fury, she spins around and marches toward me. Her eyes ablaze, she stands on her tiptoes and grabs a fistful of my hair.

"Ouch! What the fuck? Mom!" I screech and she pulls my face down to her level.

"Look, I don't what the hell is going on with you, but I am still your mother. There is a lot about this world that you do not understand. Contrary to what you believe, you do not know everything. Lose the attitude or you can find somewhere else to whack off."

Holy shit.

How does she know I'm in there whacking off?

She holds me there for a minute, her fingers still clenching my hair, staring into my face like she's trying to scar this image into my memory. Mission accomplished, Mom.

Then, out of nowhere, she fucking hugs me.

"I love you, buddy," she says as she squeezes my head. "But you're acting like a real asshole."

Buddy? She hasn't called me that since I was like twelve.

After that little incident of physical abuse, I shower. Get dressed. Hunt a few dragons. Check my phone about a million times.

Five hours until Bella's plane lands.

I can't stand the waiting. I need to do something. I don't know where to go or what to do so I grab my trumpet and my new hat. It's a fedora. I got it for Christmas and it looks kind of cool. Especially with my new beard.

I head out to the field. Next to the airport. I figure I can play as loud as I want there and no one will be disturbed.

I get out of the car and gingerly climb onto the trunk. I open my trumpet case and the smell hits me like a tidal wave. Musty velvet and then oxidized brass. The alloy clings to my hands as I put my instrument together. It creeps into my skin, sending a twitch to my fingers and a pang thrumming in my chest. God, I've missed this.

I bring the instrument to my lips and blow. The muscles stretch along my sides and in my core and it feel likes nothing else. I play for an hour, trills and flutters and basic harmonies just to adjust. I'm rusty, but not as bad as I imagined. My shoulder's tight but my fingers remember where to go and what to do. My lips and cheeks throb by the time I see a big black suburban pull onto the dirt road.

Shit, is that the cops? They probably think I'm a terrorist. You know, with my beard and everything. The sun is just setting and the sky is purple and I squint as this tiny ball of light hops out of the back seat. She slams the door shut and my face can't do anything but smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Bella says and there's a cloud of dust behind her as the big black bus drives away. They just left her here?

There's no rainbow in her hair anymore, just white, colorless streaks through dark dark brown. Her eyes are clear of makeup and her skin is a lot paler than I remember. Except her lips, which seem to glow bright pink in the twilight. And she's wearing glasses. Circular, metal frames perched on her nose that magnify the roundness of her eyes.

"Practicing," I shrug and hold up my trumpet. "I don't know if you heard, but my sister birthed a prodigy. No one's allowed to speak in his presence."

Her lips twitch and her eyebrows raise. She doubts my sincerity. Smart woman.

"So you weren't hanging out here, waiting with bated breath for me to arrive?" She crosses her arms across her bright red sweater. She's wearing the tightest black pants I've ever seen, the bottoms tucked into purple combat boots. All under a black and white stretchy skirt. She's not even wearing a jacket. She's going to freeze as soon as that sun goes down.

"That's insane. What kind of stalker weirdo would do such a thing?" I grin and she saunters towards my car. She puts her hand on my thigh and hoists herself up onto the trunk. Her hand slides around my waist and she situates my arm around her.

"This is the part where you hug me and tell me how much you missed me," she says into my chest and I realize she's smelling me. She's smelling my chest.

No, she's wrong. This is the part where I tell her I love her and I never want her to leave again. How I love the way she fits beside me so perfectly. How I want to kiss her everywhere and not only the naughty parts, but the sweet parts too. This is the part when I ask her to tell me she loves me too and that she only wants me forever. This is the part where I say all the things I can't say. Yet.

"I missed you," I say and she looks up at me and smiles.

"Nice hat," she says and kisses my chin. "Are you growing a beard?"

"Kind of, I guess. Do you like it?" I ask because I know what she'll say. .

"Do you?" Yep, I fucking called that shit all day.

"No," I shake my head and she laughs. "Itches like a motherfucker."

"It's kind of awful," she laughs. So I rub my chin all over her face and she screams and tries pathetically to push me away.

"Embrace the beard," I say and she's holding my face with two hands now as far away from her as her little arms can reach. Which isn't far at all.

"Never!" She laughs and I don't know how it happens but then we're kissing. Her mouth mixes with mine and her hand creeps up my chest. I breathe her into my lungs and she tastes like coffee. She has coffee breath and I don't even care.

"So, have you been practicing your tonguing?" She says between kisses.

"Nope. Haven't even been on a date," I answer immediately. I don't want her thinking my tongues been anywhere near any other mouth. She nods to my trumpet in my left hand and I'm sure my face is beet red. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Oh, yeah. I'm back in the band. Cullen called me yesterday." I put the trumpet back in its case. Frees up a hand for other things.

"He called you at home? On a Saturday?" Her palm brushes against my cheek, then slides over the back of my neck and I close my eyes because it feels so good.

"Mmm hmm," or some similarly weird noise comes out of my mouth. That's right, her kisses make me incoherent.

"That was really nice of him," she says and my eyes flash open.

"Explain, please, how him calling me on my mother's cell phone is really nice," I say.

"He didn't have to extend that courtesy to you. He could have just replaced you. He must really care about you," she says and there's a white strand of hair curled around her face so I push it out of the way.

"It's not me he cares about," I mumble and her fingers slide down the neck of my shirt and across my bare shoulder.

"You have shoulder knobs," she says as she rubs the sharp pointy bone on my shoulder.

"Uh, I know. They're grotesque."

"No, they're not. I love shoulder knobs." Bella grins and then pulls the neck of my shirt until my knob is exposed and she kisses it. Little tingles shoot down my arm, like pin pricks all over my skin. Then her mouth is on my neck and then my chin and then my lips, a sweet swell of push and pull. I feel in every inch of my body. And I do mean, every inch. Just like that, I need to jerk off.

She pulls back and her face is close, her eyes are bright and huge and I feel like if I look long and hard enough, I could find myself in the reflection through the glass. I keep looking for myself in her eyes and she's very serious.

"He cares about you, because he cares about her, you know." Lashed lids float over my reflection and I try to make sense of her words.

"I know. Doesn't make it right."

"Not everything is right or wrong, Edward. Some things just _are_ and there's not a damn thing you can do about it," she sighs and then leans her head on my chest.

I have nothing to say because I know she's right. She's always right. Instead, I let my arms wind around her and pull her close. A plane zooms overhead and Bella shivers from the gust of wind that swirls in its wake. It's the first one I've noticed all night.

"Can I come over?" Bella asks after minutes of silence.

"What? Why?" I gasp before I can stop myself and she grins.

"Relax, I'm just really sick of my family. I've been stuck with them for weeks and I need a break," she says and even though I don't want it to, disappointment slithers in.

"Yeah, I guess," I try to play cool as I slide down off the trunk of the car. My back twinges but I don't let it show. Girls can smell weakness and fear. Just like bees. And telemarketers.

Bella stands up and before I can warn her, she jumps onto my back. I drop like a sack of hammers, Bella goes down with me, and we both scream all the way.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" She hovers over me as I curl into a fetal position.

"My back," I cringe through gritted teeth.

"I hurt your back!" Bella exclaims and now there are tears in her eyes. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No, not you. I slipped. On the ice. Like a week ago. I think I broke my tailbone." I answer in short spurts and her eyes are all over my face and my body, like checking for damage or something.

"Oh shit, I didn't know. I'm so sorry!" She kisses my cheek and presses her face to mine and she's shaking.

"Are you crying?" I ask and she pulls away, her face scrunched up, her glasses smeared with tears. Obviously crying.

"No," she lies.

"Why the hell are you crying? I'm fine," I say and try to get up. Bad idea! Bad, bad idea. I roll over on my back and lay in the icy dirt.

"I don't know. I just missed you," she says and her head is on my chest and there are more tears. I can't help it. I laugh and even though it hurts like hell, it's the greatest pain I've ever felt.

She missed me.

"We have school tomorrow," I say and she sits up, her red and splotchy eyes are intensified by the circles of glass.

"So?" she's confused.

"Are you going to wear your hair like that?" I ask and she wipes her nose. "You promised you would show me one day, remember?"

"You want to watch me dye my hair?" She asks and I smile. She shrugs and stands up.

"Okay. Take me to the grocery store."

We stop at Target on the way into town and Bella pulls me by the hand down the juice aisle.

"Make sure it's unsweetened," she says as she peruses the packets. "Berry Blue, Purplesaurus Rex, Tropical Punch, and Oh Yeah, Orange Pineapple are my go-to colors."

Kool-aid. She dyes her hair with kool-aid. It's brilliant.

"It's super cheap and readily available." Bella had explained in the car. "I have to re-dye it every week so the cheaper, the better."

She searches the shelves and I spot Oh Yeah, Orange Pineapple on the top shelf.

"Here you go, Shorty. I'll help you out with this one," I say and she rolls her eyes.

"Don't think that ever holds me back, baby." She stands on my feet and clutches my shirt with both hands and plants one on me. She's kissing me in public. And she doesn't even care.

We make our purchases, adding a bottle of conditioner, rubber gloves, foil, a comb, some ziplock containers, beef jerky, a two-liter of Dr. Pepper, and a ten pound bag of gummi bears to the mix. I drive back to my house and Bella shivers on my porch until I open the door. Shit, I should have offered her my jacket. What the hell, Edward? I cannot believe I passed up such an apparent opportunity to express my decorum and chivalry. God, I'm a douche!

"Do you want my jacket?" I ask. Better late than never, right?

"I'm cool," she says and I laugh.

"Yep, literally." I unlock the front door and Alice is sitting on the living room couch. She's watching _Deadliest Catch_, a big curly pillow wrapped around her belly and her boob's hanging out. The baby's sucking on her boob and she's just letting it all hang out.

"Jesus Christ, Alice, put it away!" I screech and close my eyes but the damage has been done. I'll never be able to look at boobs the same way again.

"Shhhhhush!" Alice whispers and then she sees Bella, I'm sure. Because her whole tone changes. "I just got him to sleep. He's been nursing for hours. My nipples feel like they're going to fall off."

"He's beautiful," I hear Bella whisper.

"Is it gone? Can I open my eyes now?" I ask.

"Yeah, this is now a boob free zone," Bella answers and I open my eyes. She's on the couch next to Alice, stroking the little head poking out from the blue blanket.

"I'd let you hold him but he's a light sleeper," Alice says.

"It's okay, I can admire from afar," Bella says and then reaches down and kisses the soft gold curls. "He looks like Jasper."

"I know. I was hoping he'd get those curls." Alice lightly touches his head and the weirdest thing bubbles up in my chest.

Jealousy.

Bella's already bonded with the kid and she's only been here five minutes. She's kissed him, for Christ's sake. I haven't even really seen the kid.

"He has eyes like yours," Bella says and she's smiling at me.

"Really?" I ask and then Alice has to ruin everything.

"They'll probably change color," she says and Bella smells his head.

"Maybe," Bella says and she stands. "But for now, they look like his Uncle Edward's."

Uncle Edward. I'm a fucking uncle. Holy shit. Hey look at that, it's reality and it's smacking me in the face.

"Let's go dye your hair," I mumble because I have to get out of here.

Bella looks perplexed. I haul the bags up to my room and she follows, closing my door behind her.

"That kid's lucky to have you," she says as she dumps the bags out on my bed. I don't answer because I really don't want to talk about it. I think she understands because she starts sorting out the goods. She opens the bag of gummi bears and pops a couple into her mouth.

She dumps the contents of her packets into separate Ziplock containers She squeezes a small amount of conditioner into each and uses the end of a comb to mix the colors.

I put on _The Specials_ and sit on my bed and I watch Bella work her magic. Bella on the floor, cross-legged in front of the long mirror on the back of my closet door. She takes her time rubbing the color into different sections of her hair and brushing through with the comb. When she finishes a shade, she wraps the strand in foil and throws away the disposable gloves. When she's done, her whole head is covered in silver and wrapped in plastic wrap.

"Ta-da," she says. Without all her hair, all I can see is her face: the pout of her lips, her slope of her nose and bare eyes behind big, round spectacles.

"How long do you have to leave that on?" I ask and she plants herself on my bed.

"All night," she responds and grabs another handful of gummi bears.

"So, does that mean you're spending the night?" I ask hopefully and she shrugs. We both know she could be home in two minutes. Shit, she could walk if she had to.

"Would that be okay? I mean, we obviously can't do anything. With this," she motions to her hair. "And that." She points to my back. Valid point. But it doesn't matter. She wants to stay.

"I don't see why not. My sister's baby daddy lives with us. My parents should be used to this kind of stuff by now."

"Don't worry, you will never be my baby's daddy."

I don't know if that was supposed to be reassuring, but it's not. It kind of hurts. And I'm sure it's written all over my face.

"I mean, I'm not going to have a baby ever. Like not with anyone," Bella explains and now I'm just confused. How can someone make that decision at sixteen?

"You mean, never? You don't want kids?" I ask and her big brown eyes peer into mine.

"Just because you can be a parent doesn't mean you should be. Some people aren't meant to be parents. I'm way too selfish," she says.

"You're not selfish at all. And you know a lot about things. You're smart and loving and funny. You'd be a really good mom. Believe me, I know shitty moms."

Bella doesn't say anything else so I drop the subject. She unlaces her boots and pulls them off. Her purple socks are pulled up over her pants and the rolls them down, wiggling her toes as she shoves her socks into her boots.

"Can I borrow some pj's?" she asks and then takes off her sweater. She's wearing a tank top underneath but I was totally wrong before. Boobs are still good.

She stands up and shimmies out of her skirt, bending over to pick it up off the floor.

Yep, I still like boobs. A lot.

"Uh, yeah." Oh look at that, I can form sentences. I dig through my drawer and find one of my Chicago Bears t-shirts. I get one every year for my birthday from my dad. Because I'm such a huge football fan.

She pulls it over her head and it's huge on her, down to her knees. She laughs and unbuttons her pants. She peels them off her legs and folds them up.

She hops in my bed and slides under the covers and there's no way I'm going to be able to crawl into that bed with her like that. Maybe I should sleep on the floor. I'll offer, at least. But first I'm off to the bathroom. Just in case I have another one of my arousing dreams.

"I'll be back in a sec," I tell her and she grins.

"Are you gonna jack off?" she asks as she shows me her ankle. "Do you need some inspiration?"

"Wow, your calf muscle is so hot," I say and I'm trying to be sarcastic but her legs are fantastic. Runner's legs, all toned and muscled. Sexy as all hell.

"My calf muscle is totally hot!" she scoffs and then stands up to flex, the shirt riding up her thigh. "You see that? That's four months of training hills for next week's race. Brutal, man."

"Wait, do that again." I say and pull out my phone. "I need a pic, you know, to help work things out."

"I could just show you my tits," she says. "Or are you an ass man?"

I don't know if she's being serious. So I just don't answer. Cash out, Edward. While you still have some chips on the table.

"I think I'm good," I say and hurry out of the room.

It doesn't take me long in the bathroom. Not with Bella's offer running through my head. Maybe five minutes and I'm back in my room. Bella's eyes are closed and she's on her side, her saran wrapped head on my pillow. Her glasses are folded on my nightstand. I like them there. Her lashes are long and her breathing is soft and I carefully ease a pillow off the bed.

"I don't think so," she murmurs and without opening her eyes, she lifts the comforter for me. Her lips twitch as I kick off my shoes and shuffle out of my jeans. I pull on some sweatpants because my chicken legs are hairy and white and gross and I lay down next to her.

She turns over, her plastic head on my chest and her arm on my stomach, her fingers sliding underneath the hem of my shirt. Her fingers tickle my skin and I might need another trip to the toilet. But I don't want to move. She's warm and smells deliciously fruity.

"Is this going to hurt your back?" she asks quietly.

"I don't think so," I respond because I don't care if it will. There's not a chance in hell she's moving.

"Good. Because you're very comfortable." She lifts her head up to look at me, but her eyes are still closed. "Kiss me."

I lean forward and press my lips to hers and she sighs into me. I kiss her a few more times, because really who could resist such encouragement and then she's nuzzling into my chest again. Her legs rub against mine and I'm not even weirded out by the thought of her bare foot touching my calf.

"Good night, Edward," she says into my shirt and soon her body's heavy with sleep.

Best PG coed sleepover ever.

...

**A/N:**

This update brought to you by The Shins new album, which is making me feel things. Slowly but surely, baby dolls!

**LightStarDusting** beta's like a dream.

Thank you for reading!


	17. Me and My Girlfriend

CH 17 - Me and My Girlfriend

…

"_BORN in the U-S-A, I was...BORN in the U-S-A!_"

Really? Is that the only line he knows? Jasper's singing again. He's making pancakes. Jasper's a whiz in the kitchen; he watches all these cooking shows. He makes a really good coconut crème cake. So weird, right?

Ugh, school day. I do not want to get up. I feel like I could sleep forever. My pillow is so comfortable and my blanket is so warm and Bella is so...

Holy shit, where's Bella?

I jolt up and frantically cling to my empty sheets. God, I hope she wasn't abducted by my family.

I try to jump out of bed but the sheets twist around my ankles. I kick them away but trip instead as I try to roll off my bed. Finally free from the constraints of flannel, I open my door carefully. I don't want to draw any attention to myself.

"_BORN in the U-S-A…I was...BORN in the U-S-A!_"

We get it, you're American. Now learn a new song!

I creep to the bathroom and the door is closed. I put my ear to the panel but I can't hear anything due to the morning serenade by Mr. WannabeSpringsteen. Should I knock? What if she's pooping? I've shared a bathroom with my sister long enough to know you never knock when a girl might be pooping.

I wait outside the door at least five Born in the USA's. Then I lightly tap on the door.

"Come in," Bella says and her voice is muffled. I open the door and Bella's bent over the sink. All I can see is her ass and her thighs. And her ass. She's going to need to leave the bathroom. Now.

The sink is full of multicolored foil. She's massaging her scalp, water running over her face and all I can focus on is her ass sticking out under her t-shirt. Her underwear is neon green. With yellow stars. I want to touch the stars.

"Good morning, honey!" My mom's behind me in the hall, putting in one of her pearl earrings when she catches a glimpse of the glorious sight before me.

"Oh, my!" She gasps.

"My thoughts exactly." I whistle and my mom frowns.

"Oh hey, Mrs. Masen," Bella says as she turns her head under the faucet. She pulls her head out of the sink and water runs down the front of her shirt. Oh, excuse me. _My_ shirt.

"Bella, honey, what are you doing here?" My mom asks. She's exasperated. It's priceless.

"I slept over," she says and then resumes her rinsing.

"_BORN in the U-S-A, I was...BORN in the U-S-A!_" Remind me to thank Jasper for his perfectly timed and highly patriotic interruptions.

"Well, you'd better wear something…heavy, dear. Looks like it's going to be a cold one out there." My mom looks at me disapprovingly, like I'm some kind of pervert. "Edward, honey plum, can I see you for a moment?"

"You can't see me always? I'm invisible?" I shout with glee and my mom clears her throat. I dare you, Mom. Go ahead, insult the neighbor girl.

"Edward..." she stops because now Bella's wrapping her head in a towel. She stands next to the sink and smiles at my mom, like we didn't do anything wrong.

I mean, we didn't. We didn't do anything except sleep. Alright, I groped a little. But I cleverly disguised it as cuddling.

My mom smiles back at Bella then focuses her attention on me again. She's having a hard time finding the words. Clears her throat. Fiddles with her earring. Her discomfort is glorious.

"Your father and I would appreciate it, if you'd let us know when you're having a sleepover. Bella, I'm sure your parents would like the same."

"They don't care," she says as she shakes out her hair. "But it's no problem. I understand why you're concerned."

"Well, thank you, Bella." My mom looks at me, like she's expecting some kind of explanation.

"I have to pee," I say instead and my mom narrows her eyes and all I can do is grin. My mom stalks down the hall and Bella skips out of the bathroom, a wavy rainbow dripping down the back of her shirt.

I brush my teeth and take a piss and head back into my room, closing the door behind me, a safe barrier between us and _them_. Bella's lacing up her boots, her glasses back on her nose and she's wearing my jacket.

"I have to go home before school. I don't have any of my stuff," she says. My shirt's folded on the bed. "I'm taking your jacket, though."

"Are you walking?" I ask and she nods and she must notice the mortification on my face.

"I'm a runner. This is a cake walk." She's got a point.

"Okay. So I'll see you at school then?" I ask and then my door flies open. My mom pokes her head in and stares me down.

"Door open," she says and clacks down the hall in her heels.

Bella grins; I can't tell if she knows I'm freaking out. She stands on her toes and kisses my chin.

"Don't forget to shave," she says and taps my face.

And then she's gone, skipping down the stairs and out the front door.

I shower, dress, drive myself to school. I don't have to take Alice anymore, she's still being home-schooled and Jasper caught a ride with some friends. God, it feels good to be behind the wheel again. I've missed my piece of shit Volvo. Even when I stall on the hill before the train tracks.

I park and saunter to first period. Like a gangsta. If only these fools knew who spent the night in my bed. My victory parade is interrupted by Jake's ugly ass blocking the door. At first all I see is his back, he's wearing his _Left4Dead_ shirt so I know it's him. He's swaying back and forth, his arms wrapped around some chick and as I get closer, her face starts to come into focus.

That motherfucker.

He leans forward and kisses her, his hands through blonde hair. He pulls away and she stares at me as she fixes the red lipstick smeared across her mouth.

I want to punch them both for their sheer stupidity.

"My parents are out of town," Jessica says as she runs her hands over Jake's biceps. She's obviously trying to get my attention. Her hair is lighter, looks like bleach. And she's wearing makeup. Lots of it. So pathetic. "You want to party this weekend?"

"Shit, yeah," Jake says and he grabs her hip.

"Hey Edward," Jessica says as I try walk into the classroom. I can't help it, a laugh bubbles up from my gut and bursts out my mouth before I can stop it.

"Oh my God, really?" I laugh.

Jake shoves me in the shoulder and I can't help but roll my eyes. This is where Jake tries to prove he's cooler than me by acting tough.

"Something funny?" he asks and I'm wondering how it's possible this day could be ruined so quickly. It started out so great.

"Wait, this isn't a joke?" I ask and I know it's coming. Jake always throws the first punch mid-sentence. He likes to catch his opponent off guard. Luckily, I've been fighting Jake since sixth grade.

Before I can even revel in the awesomeness of my response, Jake's fist is in the air. I duck, my tailbone tweaks in defiance, but I ignore the pain. Operation Don't Get Punched has taken precedence.

Jessica screams and a crowd starts forming as Jake regains his balance. I ram my shoulder into his stomach and he stumbles again but somehow he's able to wrap his arm around my neck. My head is in his elbow and I flail. My long arms work to my advantage and my hand connects with his face.

I slap him. An open-palmed slap across the face.

He stops, stunned and then lets me go.

"Did you just bitch slap me?" he asks and again, before I can say anything else, a ridiculous howl erupts out of my own mouth. I did. I just bitch slapped him. And the crowd disperses.

"I found it appropriate," I retort and that motherfucker laughs. He punches my shoulder again. Jessica laughs and wraps her arms around his stomach. So fucking typical. So fucking Jacob.

"We're having a get together this weekend. You should come. Bring Bella," she says and this feels like a set-up.

"Maybe," I say and then Jake's arm is wrapped around my shoulder in one of those quasi-guy hugs. I'd take it more seriously if Jessica wasn't surgically attached to his hip.

"You still seeing her, right? Or was it her sister? I can't keep these things straight these days," Jake digs. He's such a passive aggressive dick. Luckily, I'm more of an aggressive aggressive dick.

"Maybe you should lay off the drugs. Wouldn't want to damage the old noggin," I say and thump him on the head. He lets me go. But he might try to hit me again. The bell rings and Mr. Willis shows up at the door.

"You boys coming to class today?" he asks, looking directly at the flyers along the wall behind us.

Jake shrugs and Jessica kisses him and hurries down the hall. She's going to be late. Jake gives me a pat on the cheek and then walks in the classroom. And it was shaping up to be such a good day, too.

Class passes and Jake spends the whole time texting Jessica. Symbiotic stupidity.

I head out to Algebra, managing to avoid any other contact with Jake. I can't wait to see Bella. I hang outside the math building, thinking I'll catch her on her way in but the bell rings and she's nowhere to be found. I run to class and she's already in a seat. She's pretty stealthy. You know, for a girl.

Mr. Jenks is already lecturing and he doesn't see me slip in the door. Because I'm a ninja.

Bella smiles and moves her bag from the empty seat next to her. She saved me a seat.

I sit down in the desk she reserved and she leans over. I think she's going in for a smooch so I pucker up but she stops. Retreat, Edward! This is not a kiss!

"Rough morning?" she whispers and I try to play off the pucker, like I was going blow air in an exasperated, running late, kind of way.

"Yeah, I need an adjustment period," I say and she laughs. I turn and face forward in my desk and now I really do need to exhale. I blow and then Bella's leaning over the side of her desk and her lips are on my cheek. In front of the whole class. Epic.

"Mmmm, soft. Do you moisturize?" she whispers in my ear. Thank you, Oil of Olay.

"Did you know Jake's with Jessica now?" I whisper back and her lips press together.

"Um, no. I just got back to civilization yesterday, remember?" she says with a quirk of her pierced eyebrow and Jenks clears his throat. Bella straightens in her chair and tries to pay attention. Because she's responsible like that.

"Don't you think that's kind of weird?" I ask her as soon as Jenks scrawls a whole bunch of variables on the white board.

"No, do you?" she answers without looking at me. She's trying to listen. I should leave her alone.

"I don't know, kind of. It's not like he's-" Just then, Mr. Jenks gives me the look of death as if figuring out what x equals will give me the meaning of life or something.

I sigh and face forward and I can feel Bella's eyes on me. She's coming to some conclusion, figuring this all out in her head. I gotta admit, it's equal parts disturbing and comforting. I might never have to think for myself again.

Mr. Jenks gives us our assignment and Bella's scribbling in her notebook but I can't focus. It's like everything in my life is a variable. Always a mystery. Always changing. It's so much work trying to figure it all out. I don't know what to think about anything anymore.

"Bella," I whisper and she looks over, expecting.

"I need help," I say and she scoots her chair over to mine. Jenks frowns but there's no rule against working together. Suck it, shit-sniffer.

"No you don't," she smiles and her fingers weave with mine. One of the benefits of being left-handed. I watch her as she writes. How does she do this? Always knows what to say. Always knows how to make me feel better. A constant.

She squeezes and Jake and Jess float out of my head like butterflies. I have a new problem, though. This hipster-goth freshman sitting in front of me is staring down our entwined hands. His teeth grind together and his eyes sprout daggers. He might be casting a hex on me right now.

After class, Bella splits with a kiss on my cheek. She's off to drafting then track before lunch. I'm supposed to meet her in the cafeteria. I can't wait to see the look on their faces when I walk through that lunch room with this girl on my arm. I know I shouldn't care. But this is how I've changed over break. _She's_ my transformation.

I get to the cafeteria and I can't find her anywhere. I stand outside for like ten minutes, debating whether or not I should head back in. I send her a text but it goes unanswered and I'm starting to panic. Plus, I'm really hungry.

"You going in?" Mike walks up behind me and he's got his pack of fashionable yet sexually-ambiguous new friends. One of them flips his long hair behind his ear. The other lazily scrolls through his iPhone. How can I ever compare with their awesomeness?

"Yeah, I guess," I mutter and Mike holds the door open for me.

I stop to scan the room and immediately find Rosalie and Emmett. He's straddling the bench next to her and she's laughing like a hyena. I guess they're back together or something. They're surrounded by the rest of the prodigal pack of perfection. Directly behind them are Ben and Angela. They're arguing about something. Ben's arms are flying through the air and he looks indignant. It's his signature expression. And then there's Jake and Jess. J Squared is what I'm calling them now, I just decided. Jess is in his lap and he's practically groping her boob. Wow, look at that. My appetite has been replaced with nausea.

"Edward!" Bella's standing on a chair, which makes her about the same height as everyone else in the room. She's waving and there it is, sweet relief. How did I not notice her?

What I also did not notice until right this moment is that the whole cafeteria had shifted to stare at me. I try to focus on Bella waving as I move through the lunchroom but Rose glaring, her violet eyes like slits. She turns and whispers something to Emmett and they look at me and laugh. Like I'm that pathetic loser again.

Luckily, Ben is sitting behind her. He gives me a thumbs up and I laugh. Who still gives a thumbs up?

"Are you okay?" Bella's laughing by the time I reach her. She hops off the chair and then sits in it.

"Yeah," I answer and look around. She purses her lips and I notice a Dr. Pepper and two chocolate cookies on the table. She got me lunch.

She takes a drink of her milk and I sit down but I can't get comfortable. I open my soda and she's humming "Born in the U.S.A." I think I'm going to throw up.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks and I scan the room again. Rose is still staring. It's getting creepy.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer as my eyes float to Jake. He's covering his mouth, saying something to Ben. Probably about me. Asshole.

"You look constipated," she says and Mike and his friends sit at our table.

"I do not," I say and my eyes meet hers. They're lined in black, like normal. Very different eyes from the clear ones this morning. Those eyes were all hers. These are confused, troubled eyes.

"Mike, describe Edward's facial expression with one word," she says. The metal bar through her brow hitches in anticipation.

Mike looks up from his pizza and deep conversation and smirks. "Gas?" he says and Bella's eyes light up.

"Oh my God, see?" She says, surprised he guessed right.

"That's not funny," I say and my eyes drift over to Jake again. He gives me a nod and I signal back. An acknowledgement.

"Oh," she sighs and I'm ashamed. I shouldn't care what they think. Bella wouldn't care.

I look back and expect to meet judging eyes but instead she's smiling. She stands and grabs the snacks from the table and tosses them in her bag.

"Come on," she says and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. Linked together, she runs through the lunchroom and they're staring again, but not just at me. I have to trot to keep up with her but their eyes follow our hands this time. She turns back and smiles mischievously and all I can worry about now is where she's taking me. Where are we going? And does it involve kissing?

Just then, Bella stops, just before the door and she turns. She's up on her toes and her lips are pressed to mine.

Take that assholes! Can your girlfriend read minds? Because mine can.

Yeah, I'm calling her my girlfriend now.

She leads me to the stadium. The gates are chained but she ducks beneath the chain and slides between the poles easily.

"There's no way in hell I can get through there," I say.

"You'll find a way." She turns and runs up the stairs. Her skirt shifts up her thighs and I'd be able to see her undies if she wasn't wearing tights. Curse you, Chicago winters! I watch her hips twist and sway and then she disappears.

"Shit," I mutter and try to duck under the chain, the way she did. I have to force my backpack through first and then damage a few organs and quite possibly contract frostbite, but I finally squeeze my way through the opening. I run up the stairs but she's nowhere to be found. The wind bites through my bones and she's gone. Just rows and rows of bleachers looking out onto a big empty field.

"Bella?" I shout and hear a soft "Shhhhhh!" in reply. And then she laughs.

I look in the direction I think I hear her from but I'm completely alone. I start walking the rows, jumping down towards the field.

"Colder," she says and I turn around because she's definitely behind me.

Nothing except the score booth. She can't be in there, it's locked. I'm not going to lie, her ninja-like skills are kind of turning me on. I walk over to the booth and look in through the window. Nothing. I try the door but it doesn't budge.

"Warmer," I hear so I keep walking around the booth. I pass it entirely and hop down a couple more rows.

"Super cold. Like ice." I stop and spin again.

"Bella, lunch is almost over and I have to go to class today. I can't be late." I say into the empty space.

"Then hurry up and find me."

I walk around the booth again when she says, "Hot. Red hot. You're on fire." Where the fuck is she? I through my hands up in frustration and let them fall and the clap echoes through the empty stadium.

"Look up," she says and there she is, peeking over the side of the roof of the score booth. The sun glows behind her, a rainbow frames her pink cheeks and she beams.

"How did you get up there?" I ask and she stands. Which isn't safe at all. But I can see right up her skirt. A man has to have his priorities.

"There's a ladder. Between the back wall and the fence."

I run around to the back and climb. The bell rings when I get to the top. Bella stands with her back to me. She looks out over the school and she shivers, white clouds puff around her face as she breathes. I wrap my arms around her and breathe into her neck. My lips press into the skin there, under her ear and she shudders. I think that's good. Shuddering is good, right?

"Sometimes, when I feel like nothing makes sense, I come up here to clear my head. It's like all I need is a little perspective." Bella presses back against me, pulling my arms around her tighter. I watch my classmates file out of the cafeteria, a line of marching ants. They're all the same. I can't make out any of their faces.

Except the one right in front of me.

Bella turns, her arms reaching through my coat and around my waist. Her lips are cold as they press to mine but then we're spinning and it gets warmer and warmer. Red hot. On fire. The ants march around us and we spin on top of the world.

Needless to say, I'm totally late to band. I assemble my trumpet outside and leave my bag by the door.

Cullen doesn't say anything when I slip in. He's leafing through paperwork on his desk as Riley leads the practice so I sneak across the room, hiding behind the drums. I try to find my way to the brass section unnoticed but as soon as I reach my row, Cullen stops the practice and I freeze where I am, instrument in hand.

"Let's try that again, this time try to keep the three four count, ending with strings strong as brass fades." He turns to sit but then pauses.

"Welcome back, Edward. Glad you could join us today." The class chuckles and my face feels like it's on fire.

I give him a salute and jog over to my spot between Senna and Zafrinia and just like old times, they look at me with contempt.

"Good afternoon, ladies," I say and they roll their eyes. I look down on the floor and Mike's laughing and it makes me laugh too. Ah, it's good to be back.

Mr. Cullen's smug as Riley raises his baton again and we play.

…

"Saaaack of pooo-taaaa-toes!" Bella laughs in my ear. Her fingers twist with mine, as Jessica rolls across our backs. It practically squeezes the life out of me.

"Ugggh," I exhale and then Jess is facedown beside me, giggling and breathless and then Jake is rolling across my back.

Bella groans and I can't breathe. Jake is a lot heavier than Jessica.

"Say it!" Bella shouts, then turns her face to mine. "You have to say it or it's not as fun." She smiles, most of her face hidden by her multi-color curtain of hair.

"Sack of potatoes," Jake grumbles as he rolls over Jessica and I find this delightful. He sounds like a dumbass.

But I'm going to play this game and I'm going to be enthusiastic about it. Because Bella wants to. And I'm a little drunk.

It's Angela's turn now and she just screams as she rolls over our backs. Then Ben follows, screaming "sack of potatoes" all the way across. Bella's next and there's a cold spot on the floor as soon as she's rolling.

"Sack of potatoes!" she cheers and then I'm on. This is going to be bad, from a logistical perspective. For one thing, I'm at least a head taller than anyone here. And the only person I really want to touch is at the very end of the line.

Beer is evil. It makes you do things. Really, really dumb things. Like play sack of potatoes with a bunch of people you weren't even speaking to last week.

I start rolling onto Jessica and she exhales and then Jake groans.

"Fuck dude!" he mumbles against the floor and it's all worth it.

"Sack of potatoes!" I sing and Bella howls.

"That's right, baby!" she laughs as I crush my quasi-friends. But before I can squish Bella, I grab her waist and roll away from the rest of them.

Our heads knock into Jessica's microfiber recliner and then Bella's on top of me and she's giggling. The roll has left me spinning and she's a kaleidoscope above me. She falls forward onto me, her mouth literally colliding with mine. I grip her waist and then slide my hands down over her ass until I grip her thighs. She breathes, heavy and hot in my mouth, her hair sticking to our sweaty faces. Rolling around on the floor is physically exerting. Then Bella's pulling me off the floor. She's moving way too fast.

Ben hands me another can. It fizzes all over my hand when I pop the top. Angela's curled up on the couch and Ben falls next to her. He kisses her cheek and she smiles like the fucking Mona Lisa. God, they're adorable.

"Dude, Bella, you wanna check out my spores?" Jake says suddenly.

"Are you growing? Where, in your closet?" Bella asks and I still don't know what they're talking about. I don't like it. Why is he even talking to her?

"Actually, they're in _my_ closet," Jessica bites then Jake's making out with her, tonguing her right there in front of everyone. Ugh, disgusting. I mean, it's hot when Bella and I do it, because, well, we're attractive. I can't help the double standard. I didn't make the rules.

"Yeah, I'll check them out," Bella says, unfazed. She follows Jake and Jess into Jessica's room. I hate following mJake. Dredges up all kinds of old feelings of inadequacy.

"Come on," Bella says to me and then holds out her hand. Yeah, I'd follow _her_ anywhere. Right into the depths of Mordor.

We walk together into Jessica's room. This is a bad idea. The last time I was here, I was in my underwear.

Jessica sits on the bed, uninterested as Jake pulls a mason jar from the closet.

"Karo syrup, water and spores," he says as Bella squints into the glass.

"How long until they're ready for harvest? Four, five weeks?" Bella asks. She sure knows a lot about this stuff. Whatever it is.

"I figure about four weeks. I'll transfer them in a couple weeks or so," Jake says and they stand together, staring into the glass. Too close together. Too too close.

"What is that?" I blurt, mainly because I want her away from him.

"Mushrooms," Bella says with a smile. "The fun kind."

"What, like...shrooms?" I ask and her lips widen.

"Yep," she grins. "They're nasty going down, even worse coming up. But one hell of a trip."

"Have you...eaten them before?" I ask and Bella nods. Jake puts the fungus infested water jar back in Jessica's closet, then flops on the bed next to Jess, pulling her down with him. Urge to vomit rising...

"What else have you done?" I ask because I feel like this is something a boyfriend should know. I mean, obviously Jake knew. Now I'm wondering what else Jake knows that I don't. What kind of conversations have they had? Has he been in her room? Because I haven't.

Bella doesn't answer right away. She tilts her head to the side, analyzing I'm sure and I just wish she'd give me a fucking straight answer for once.

"Does it matter? Will it change things?" she asks. Of course this is her response.

"I don't know, maybe?" I answer because now I'm just irritated.

"You sound unsure," she says and I can't help it, I roll my eyes.

"Of course I'm unsure. That's exactly the definition of _maybe_." She has to respond now. I mean, at least with some kind of verbal lashing.

She purses her lips and grasps my hand, pulling me away from the suckfest behind us. She leads me into the kitchen, where Jessica's dog is yipping at the door. Bella crouches down and scratches her behind the ear, murmuring softly before opening the back door for the dog.

"What would you like to know?" Bella asks as she leans against the counter.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You may as well make up your mind now, before this goes any further," she shrugs.

"I didn't...That's not what I meant," I mumble. "I just - I don't know..."

I don't even know how to explain this to her without sounding like a jackass.

"I've done a lot of things, Edward. Some were awesome, some were huge mistakes. But I don't regret any of them. Because of them, I'm me. And you like me." Like it's an accusation.

"Yeah, I like you," I say and I can't stop the grin from pulling at my lips. Dammit, I'm trying to be serious!

"I like me, too," she smiles.

"Well, I've done stuff, too." With your sister. She should know, right? Because that might change her mind about me. Good old, liquid courage. I'll take conversations you shouldn't have while drinking for five hundred, Alex. "I mean, I'm not completely innocent, you know."

"I know." Bella's eyes are on mine and they're different. Not just knowing eyes. Understanding.

"I mean, like with-"

"I know!" She clenches her eyes shut and swallows and I get it. It doesn't matter.

"And you still like me?" I ask. Even though I already know the answer.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." She's quiet. There's space between us and I don't need to fill it.

But I want to.

I step forward into the neutral territory. She meets me there. She leans her forehead into my chest, her fingers twist in my sweatshirt and I pull her in close.

"Do you know where Mazzy is?" Jessica barges in and then acts like she didn't know she was interrupting a huge moment here. Jake's behind her. He opens the fridge and pulls out some string cheese. Bella pulls away, runs her hands through her hair.

"She's outside," Bella says and Jess rushes to the door to let her in. Mazzy's on the step, shaking like a leaf and staring us down with her good eye. God, that dog's ugly.

"You can't leave her out. She doesn't like the cold," Jessica barks as she picks up Mazzy and the dog snarls. I'd wish for an attack but Mazzy only has like four teeth. I guess a good gumming would suffice.

"Maybe she just doesn't like you," Bella murmurs as she takes Mazzy from Jessica. That ugly, old dog wags her tail like a puppy in Bella's arms, licking her all over her face. Jessica might explode.

Jake snorts from behind the refrigerator door and then Ben rushes into the room, out of breath and way too excited.

"Angela's never been to Gravity Hill!" He looks at us like this is the newsflash of the century and when we don't respond he scoffs. "We have to take her."

"What's Gravity Hill?" Bella whispers to me and it's my turn to scoff. Internally, of course. Because I am a gentleman.

"It's not real," I answer and Ben throws his hands in the air. Which makes me laugh. Man, I've missed this. If only Mike were here, he'd totally give Ben a hard time for believing this bullshit.

"April 26th. Last year. It was convincing, dammit, and you know it." Ben's shouting now.

Bella's utterly intrigued now, her face all lit up and excited. Shit. She wants to go. She's going to think it's awesome.

"So I'm sure you've probably seen it on Mythbusters or something? About the kids on the bus that get stuck on the train tracks?" I ask her and her eyebrows pinch together.

"Anyway, the train smacks into the bus, killing everyone on board," Jake takes over and Bella puts down a very content Mazzy.

"That happened here," Ben says and I roll my eyes.

"Allegedly," I say and Bella smirks. "Anyway, there's a legend that claims if you put your car in neutral on the tracks, the ghosts of those little kids will come and push you off."

"But get this, the tracks are on an incline. You get pushed _uphill_," Ben draws out the words like it's the most amazing thing known to mankind.

"We tried last April," I add.

"Did it work?" Bella asks and Jake and I both look at Ben.

"Yeah, it did," I reply hesitantly. It's gotta be an optical illusion or something; the tracks aren't really on a hill. So far, I've been unable to prove this. But yes, last April when we tested it, it worked. Freaked Ben the fuck out. He couldn't sleep for weeks.

"What are we waiting for?" Bella exclaims. I knew she'd love this. It's totally her kind of thing. "I'll drive."

...

**A/N:**

Hey guys and dolls!

So in case you didn't know, I'm getting divorced and that's the reason for the delay in these chapters. No worries or apologies, please. Happy marriages never end in divorce. The good news is that things are starting to calm down around here. I just wanted to say THANK YOU for your lovely comments and for sticking it out. I always think the readers who enjoy my stories are a special kind of people, a secret club of awesome. Like fight club. Only less violent. Write Club? Just throwing it out there...

**LightStarDusting** beta's and is the leader of the club, because her awesomeness knows no bounds.

Thank you for reading!


	18. Holla at Me

CH 18 - Holla at Me

…

"We aren't leaving until you walk the line." I don't care what she says. She has to be drunk. Because I am shit-faced.

"Sure thing, Johnny Cash." She tiptoes along the white paint and then her clunky boots are flying through the air. She does a cartwheel, a flippity thing right on the line. Like Cirque du Soleil shit. This explains her flexibility.

And the crowd goes wild. Bella curtsies and holds out her purple shorts. Don't worry, she's wearing leggings. And I made her grab a jacket.

"You've got all kinds of tricks up your sleeve, don't you?" Jessica slurs and stumbles off the curb. God, she's a disaster. Like El Nino. Or La Nina? I don't know, I pretend gender doesn't matter when I speak Spanish. Because I believe in equal rights.

"I'm a very tricky gal," Bella responds. She holds her hand out to me, her lips curled with delight. I guess she's the only one qualified to drive. I don't understand. Either she wasn't drinking as much as I thought or she holds her liquor remarkably well.

I drop my keys in her hand. She can handle my piece of shit Volvo, I've seen the way she drives.

Then again, I've _seen _the way she drives.

The truth? I've never let anyone drive my car. Not Jake or Ben or even Mike. I've never needed to. This is a huge deal. I'm guessing Bella knows this. You know, since she knows everything.

She kisses my cheek and hops in the car. She adjusts the seat and every mirror affixed to the vehicle. Ben, Angela, Jake and Jessica cram into the back seat and I sit shotgun. I hope no one has to pee. Or puke.

Bella punches the clutch and revs the engine and she looks at me with huge, electric eyes. She zips out onto the street and I grip the door. She slides into second and I slam my foot down on an imaginary brake pedal. She jumps into third and the crowd in the back screams with delight and Bella laughs.

"You're not freaking me out," I say. She's totally freaking me out.

"I'm not trying to. I just like driving your car," she chuckles and I roll down the window. The cold air bites but it's relief compared to all the heavy breathing going on in the back seat. They're fogging up my windows.

"Wait. Who am I?" Ben says. He slaps his hand against the back window. "_Oh Jack, I'll never let go, Jack._ What a fucking liar."

"Rose totally could have made room for Jack on that door. It was a big fucking door. And I bet it was heavy too. You _know _they used real wood back then," Jessica responds and I grin furiously. Only because I know the wrath that's going to be unleashed by none other than her one true love.

"Are you insane?" Jake asks and Jessica blinks. "Density times volume times acceleration of gravity. It's all there in the math. Their shit would have sank. Why is this even a question of debate still?" His hand strikes his palm after every other word.

"He could have found another door. There was lots of debris in that water," Jessica snarks back.

"Do you even _know _the effects of hypothermia?" Jake is yelling now. Bella looks at me with a hidden smirk and I stifle a chuckle. Typical fucking Jake.

"It's a fucking movie!" Jessica screams. "It doesn't have to be factual. It just has to be entertaining."

"That is exactly the mentality that is destroying the country," Jake growls.

"Don't worry, Jake. She might destroy the country. But your heart will go on," Ben busts and I can't keep it in any longer. I howl, and the back seat joins me.

"You're the king of the world," Bella sings and now my side hurts. I might pee my pants. Shit, what if I pee my pants?

"Stupid fucking movie," Jake mutters and Jessica's stone-faced. She's not amused. Aw, their first fight. So cute.

Bella veers off the road before the tracks and kills the engine. Ben squeezes forward between the front seats.

"Okay, obviously you can see this is a hill, right?" he says to Bella. Apparently, she is the only person in this car who needs convincing.

"Sure," Bella nods. "I stall on this hill all the time."

"I hate this hill," I mutter with contempt. I taught myself how to drive a stick. Wait, that's not true. My dad gave me a ten second tutorial before school when he gave me the keys. That first day it took me half an hour to get over this hill. I've had performance anxiety ever since.

"Pull onto the street," Ben says and Bella eases onto the road. The streets are dead. Probably because it's fucking freezing. And it's two in the morning.

"Are we really doing this?" Jessica complains.

"Yes. In the name of science," Jake replies, like he's talking to a five year old.

"Now put it in neutral and take your foot off the brake," Ben continues. He's unfazed. I don't think he's even aware there's anyone else in the car. We're still far from the tracks but I'm pretty sure Ben's trying to make a point. He's using this as a control. In the name of science.

Bella does what he says and my Volvo starts rolling backward. She brakes after a few feet and Ben grins from ear to ear.

"See? This is a legit incline." He nods like he just discovered gravity.

"Hurry, someone give him a Nobel prize," I say and Jake adds his two cents.

"This means nothing. The slope of the road at this point has no bearing on the slope of the road in fifty feet." I have to admit, he makes a valid point.

"It's obviously a hill," Ben yells and Bella throws her hands up.

"You guys! The ghost children don't like all this bickering," she laughs.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Angela says meekly from the back but Ben's on a mission. He's incorrigible. It's kind of endearing.

"Just park on the fucking tracks!" He orders and Angela huffs in the back seat.

We roll over the tracks and Bella brings the car to a stop. It idles on the crossing and Ben's breathing hard. I have to admit, my heart's pounding in my throat. I can barely see twenty feet down the track. It's like we're in this little bubble of clear, encapsulated in black fog.

"Okay. Kill the engine and put it in neutral," Ben whispers, like the volume of his voice matters. It's silent in the car, save for the heavy breathing in the back. Even Jake's a little spooked. His leg won't stop shaking. He keeps hitting my seat.

Bella's quiet too, her usual smirk replaced by solemn curiosity. She slowly takes her foot off the brake.

"Okay, it's done. I'm off the brake," she whispers and the hairs on my arms prickle. We wait, silent and still, and every second seems to thump in my ears. My heart drums, and the air sticks in my lungs. Anticipation flips in my stomach. This is exactly how it happened last time.

It starts slowly. Almost unnoticed. Then the car starts to creep forward and Bella gasps. She breathes and for some reason, this freaks me out. Like if Bella believes, it must be true. Jake kicks the back of my seat and Angela starts to whimper. She's hiding her face. She might be crying.

"It's happening!" Ben whispers. We turn to stare out the back window but we can't see anything but partially defrosted lines. Jessica wipes the inside of the window with her hand and Bella turns in her seat. She's not even watching where my car is heading when we start to pick up speed. She jerks around and straightens the steering wheel, her mouth gaping the whole time. My piece of shit Volvo rolls right over the tracks and slows to a stop. On an incline. Completely still.

"What the hell just happened?" Jessica murmurs and that's when the screaming starts.

Angela's clutching the back of Bella's seat and she is just wailing. I mean, the kind of shit you see on Cops.

"Get us the fuck out of here!" she screams. "Drive! Bella, drive!"

Bella frantically turns on the car and it starts to roll back down towards the tracks. This just causes the screaming banshee to wail even more. I didn't really like that eardrum. Hearing's totally overrated.

Bella peels out and speeds up the hill. Ben finally gets Angela calmed down but she demands to be dropped off at home. When we get to her house, Ben inspects the back bumper. He's looking for evidence, snapping pictures with his phone. He swears there are fingerprints. Dozens of tiny little fingerprints. He argues with Jake over alternate theories while Jessica walks Angela into her house.

While we wait for the ghost hunters to settle their dispute, Bella turns on the radio. She puts on oldies. It's late so it's just continous play, no deejays. I kind of like it better this way.

"So, what'd you think? Fiction or reality?" I ask and she twists her mouth up in contemplation.

"It's hard to say. I know, logically, that none of it makes sense; that it can't possibly be real. But I want it to be real. So I'm going to believe." She nods, like this makes it official.

"It must be nice, to just believe whatever you want. You know, regardless of 'facts' or 'data' or any substantial 'evidence'." I air quoted the shit out of that.

"Don't underestimate the power of belief," she smirks. "Your beliefs can be your greatest asset or your greatest enemy. It's all comes down to how you use them."

"Oh, I always use my beliefs for evil. I'd definitely turn to the dark side, hands down," I remark. "Plus, you get lightning powers and the whole choke a bitch thing."

"You would never choke a bitch," Bella says as she leans over the center console and gives me a little peck on the lips. "There'd be no satisfaction in it for you. You'd rather assault someone with your whip-like wit and deadly sarcasm."

"What can I say, it's a gift." I pull her closer and kiss her again. Longer this time until she grins against my lips.

"Hey, I have a race this week. Do you want to come?" she asks.

"Like a running race?" I ask and she nods.

"Yeah, I mean, of course. I'd love to see you race." I reach for her hand and wind my fingers with hers. I play with the ring on her pointer finger, a turquoise rock embedded in silver.

"Cool. You can't watch the whole thing, because we run all over but it'd be cool to see you at the finish line."

The finish line. She wants me there to hug and kiss and swing her sweaty ass around in a celebration spin. Done and done.

"I'll be there."

…

"Did you eat all the Hot Pockets?" I dig through the freezer, looking for that little pastry wrapped pocket of goodness. One of the downsides of Marching Band: I'm starving all the time. Mostly because I don't get to eat until after practice. I can't even have a snack really. Trumpets and cookies don't mix.

Jasper stands by the sink, swaying back and forth as he rinses dishes. He's got this wrap thing wrenched around his chest and I assume the prodigy is in there. It looks like a torture device. For both of them. I don't know how that baby can survive all wrapped up like that. You'd think after being cramped up in a uterus for nine months, he'd want some elbow room.

"Naw, man, those things are toxic," he says quietly and then resumes his shushing. Apparently, Ezra is colicky, whatever that means. I think he just figure out who his parents are.

"How's my baby?" Alice scampers into the kitchen, her camera crew filling up every empty space. She's sweaty and decked out in her yoga wear. She wants to be bikini ready by summer. Maybe they'll put her on the cover of _People_.

"Jasper's implementing three of the five S's. Swaddling, swaying and shushing. It simulates the womb." Alice is talking directly into the camera now. Like she's an expert. A sixteen year old baby expert.

"How long is he supposed to think he's in the womb? Two, three years? He's never going to be able to deal with the real world if you keep coddling him like that," I say as I move yet another bag of boob milk away from my frozen burritos.

"The gestation period for humans has to be cut short because of the nature of childbirth. Humans really should incubate longer. Infants are practically helpless." Alice lets the baby sleep and kisses Jasper's cheek. "I'm taking a shower."

"Thanks for the update, Facebook," I mutter as this ziplock bag of ground beef slips out of the freezer. I catch it and hold it up, turning the gray and purple blob over in my hands. "Ugh, this looks bad. Is meat supposed to be that color?"

"Edward! Put it back! That's my placenta!" Alice screeches and the frozen carnage clatters to the floor.

"Oh my God," I gag. "You're keeping your body parts in the freezer? What the fuck, Alice? It touched my food!"

"It's wrapped up, you idiot." She picks it up off the floor and carefully places it back into the freezer. "I'm going to encapsulate it."

"You're a monster," I say and she rolls her eyes.

"It helps with postpartum depression, energy levels and enhances your milk supply," Alice says matter-of-fact, like that makes it okay she has an organ from her uterus in our freezer.

"I don't have a milk supply," I retort and she scoffs.

"Thank God for that." The cameras are right behind her now, narrowing in on our conversation. I'm glad they have Alice's brush with cannibalism well documented.

"So, Bella has a run this week," Alice starts. She's picking a fight. Anytime she mentions Bella, she's picking a fight. She must need a boost in ratings.

"What? You're kidding! You mean the girl who runs track has a track meet this week? Astonishing! Shock and awe!" I gasp. Alice pulls off her fur lined boots and she's not even wearing socks. Urge to puke rising.

"I'm sure her parents are just dying to see you." Now there's a phobia that trumps the placenta and the boob milk and Alice's feet all together.

Bella's parents.

I'm just no good with parents. I always say the wrong thing. Act the wrong way. I'm parentally challenged.

"Rose will be there too," Alice continues.

"Maybe," I shrug and then pop a piece of string cheese into my mouth.

"Just one big happy family." Alice's eyes twinkle. She's waiting for me to freak out. The anticipation is palpable.

"Yep," I say and then bolt from the room. I should win a medal for self-control. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I victory dance all the way upstairs but I have to admit, Alice has a point. I can hardly be in the same room with Rosalie without getting all awkward and creeped out. How am I supposed to be with Bella in front of her? In front of her dad? What if I want to pick Bella up and kiss her dramatically as she crosses the finish line? I can't do that kind of shit in front of her parents, right?

What a minute, of course I can. I'm Edward Anthony Masen the third. Asshole extraordinaire. And I have brain damage. I can do whatever the fuck I want.

In fact, I can't wait.

I also can't wait to tell Dr. Caius about all this. My follow-up appointment is fast approaching. We're probably going to talk about the pills. My mom thinks I'm taking them. She doesn't bother to really check the bottle. She doesn't even ask me so I can lie. Or be defiant. She just asks me once in awhile about my head.

_How are you doing? _

_How is your head? _

_Do you give a shit yet? _

Every time I tell her I'm fine, I see this little glimpse of reassurance in her face even though I'm pretty sure she doesn't think I'm fine. At least I haven't been in any more fights. That she knows of. And my grades are okay. I haven't ditched once since I've been back to school. That's a huge accomplishment. She just needs to lower her expectations. Besides, Bella thinks I'm fine. Why can't everyone else?

Anyway, my appointment is Thursday, the same day as Bella's race. But I'm sure I'll be back in time. It can't take that long to write another prescription. Then I'm back at school for Bella's flying finish. Easy as pie.

My mom drives me into the city for my appointment. I tried to tell her I could drive myself but she refused. Said she couldn't trust that I'd get myself there. Whatever that means.

I strut into Caius's office like I own the place. I walk right up to that weird little window and stick my head in.

"Edward Anthony Masen the third. To see the most revered yet highly humble Dr. Caius." I grin at the receptionist and she can't tell if I'm serious or full of shit. I should go into acting, I'm pretty damn good at this.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Masen. The doctor will be with you shortly." My mom comes bustling in through the door. I left her in the parking lot. I told her to leave the car running, and I would be right back. Of course she didn't listen.

"What is wrong with you?" she whispers and I scoff, exasperated.

"Nothing. I'm waiting patiently. The doctor will be with me shortly," I say and she pinches her face all up, like I've horribly offended her in some way. I'm just trying to be efficient. I don't want to waste one second. Just in case I can't get back to school in time for Bella's race.

I'm not idiot. I know this is a test. She's given me a golden opportunity to demonstrate my commitment by inviting me to this thing. This is one of the more useful things I've learned from living with Alice; you don't fuck up an opportunity to prove yourself to a girl. There's no haphazardness in a woman's assessment of worthiness. This is a test. And I intend to wreck shop.

I check my phone. Play a little Draw Something, then Words with Friends. Still pisses me off that "jedi" is not an valid word. Check my facebook. Nothing interesting. I don't even know why I have the stupid thing anymore. I bounce my leg incessantly until my mom smacks my knee and then I drum a little on the armrest, mostly just to piss her off. It works, but before she can hit me again, the lady appears through the disappearing door and marches me down the neutral hallway to Caius's office. I wait on his hard black couch again.

1:30. I'm making good time.

Caius doesn't keep me waiting long. He smiles his dazzling white grin and shakes my hand and then conjures up his magical iPad. He's probably playing Draw Something too. He's got a huge advantage with that big screen. Fucking cheater.

He scans the screen for what seems like eternity. Or at least ten minutes. He looks up, as if he's suddenly recollecting who I am and then, he waits. He stares at me and he waits.

I don't know what to say, so I stare back. We sit there for another minute of my wasted life before he claps his hands together.

"Well, Edward. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." I'm trying my hardest not to be a dick. It'll just waste more time. Time I could be driving back to Bella.

Caius nods, moves his fingers across the screen.

"Any problems with your meds?" He asks and I shake my head no. It's not a complete lie. I don't have any problems because I'm not taking them.

"Nope, no problems. They're great." He stops his screen swiping and looks me dead in the eye. "Drugs are great."

He knows I'm lying. He's going to type "liar" right now in my repertoire of defiance.

I hold my breath until he goes back to his screen, squinting, pinching his face. He sighs, blows the air through his lips. Come on, just give me the script. My mom will fill it, even if I don't take it. She'll fill it and you'll get your kickback and we'll all just pretend this never happened.

"If I recall, you were having some issues with impulsivity?" He reads from his screen. "Defiance, mood swings, aggression...Are these still issues? Even with your...meds?"

"I'm a teenager. Aren't these always issues?" I snort and he sighs. A big inhale and then an exhale.

"I'm referring you to a specialist, a friend of mine. I believe we may have overlooked the damage to the orbitofrontal cortex and the anterior temporal lobes. You see this?" He holds up a picture of a brain on his screen. My brain, I assume. Looks pretty good too. Massive. He points to some fuzzy looking grainy shit that means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. "I'm no neurologist, but this might account for the sudden shift in social and emotional behavior."

Huh, so the good doctor knows some shit. I wonder if he knows I made the whole thing up.

"Whatever," I murmur and scratch the scar on the back of my head.

"Trust me, it's not as bad as it could be. With some behavioral therapy and time, you will be back to normal in a flash. It'll be like nothing ever happened." He hands me a card and I stare at it. Dr. Phil Dwyer. He's going to make all my personality flaws go away.

Only, I don't want them to go away. Bella likes me this way. I like me this way. And it's not like I'm set in stone. I'm only seventeen. I have a lot of changing to do. Metamorphosis and all that shit. I'm going to be a beautiful butterfly one day.

Just then there's a knock at the door and the receptionist lets my mom in. She stands, waiting for the thunder but all Caius can give her is a little rainbow.

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaims after he's told her everything about my not so brain damaged brain. She hugs me tight around my middle and I lightly pat her back. "You're going to be just fine!"

I'll take Things I Already Told You for a thousand, Alex.

"He still needs to be evaluated now that the swelling is gone." Caius goes on and on, disclaimers and such, about how he wants me to stay on the meds until I can be reevaluated but I think we both know I'm not taking any meds. I think my mom knows too because she dismisses him like she's hardly listening. All she can hear is that I'm not going to be fucked up forever. Not from brain damage, anyway.

It's nearly two-thirty by the time we get out of there and I'm practically pulling my mom to the car.

"Why on earth are you in such a hurry? I thought maybe we could get some lunch or something? Ice cream? A celebration sundae?" She says as she drives out of the parking structure.

"We don't even know for sure. It's too early to celebrate. Let's wait until we know for sure," I argue, quite logically if I do say so myself.

"Okay, if you insist," she murmurs but even I can't shake the cheeriness from her voice. It's kind of sad, how incredibly happy it made her that I wouldn't be like this forever. She wants me to go back to how I was before. She wants me to be invisible.

I'm silent the whole ride home, the thought of my invisible self running through my head. It isn't until I'm home and shut into my shitty old Volvo that the the extent of what just happened hits me.

My mom doesn't like me. I'm sure she loves me, because there's some chemical in her brain that demands it, but she doesn't _like_ me. And that is fucked up. It shouldn't matter if I'm a little impulsive or that I sometimes say stupid things. It especially shouldn't matter to my mom, the one person who's supposed to have my back no matter what. I sit, shaking in the driveway for a full ten minutes before the alarm on my phone rings.

_Go impress Bella, _it says. And the shaking stills. Only I don't need to impress Bella.

I think I will anyway.

…

**A/N:**

Thank you for the awesome array of congratulations and cheers and general sweetness. It makes me feel better knowing there are people like you in the world. And to answer some of your questions...no, I don't live in Chicago, I live in SoCal, yes, there was a gravity hill where I grew up and yes, it worked. I found out years later it was an illusion or something of that nature. But from 1996-1999, I was a believer.

**LightStarDusting** is no illusion and neither are her mad beta skillz. She's taking it back to the streets.

Thank you for reading!


	19. Shorty Wanna Be a Thug

CH 19 - Shorty Wanna Be a Thug

…

"_Every time in my dreams...I see you...I feeeeeeel yoooou." _

Don't judge. Bella's mix is the only music on my player. Besides, this is a really good song. Celine has the voice of an angel.

The parking lot's pretty crowded when I get to school so I park across the street. I had no idea this many people came to these things. I mean, running's not that exciting.

I follow the milling crowd to the stadium. This is like the fucking Olympics and shit. There's people running around the track and doing the sandpit jump thingy. There's the long pole catapult and people flying over hurdles and a gun keeps going off every two minutes.

I scan the crowd in the stands, looking for Bella's parents, looking for Rose. I thought for sure I'd be able to pick the Colonel out of the crowd but they're nowhere to be found. Panic grips my stomach. Maybe Bella's already done. Maybe it's over and I missed it and they're gone.

I grab the closest person I can, this lady in a Riverside slicker and rain boots. It's not even raining.

"Hey, did um, did the cross country team come in yet?" I ask her and I'm sure I'm not using the proper terminology.

"What?" she asks and I roll my eyes.

"Cross country. Anyone come in yet?" Oh come on, it's a completely reasonable question.

"Oh, no, not yet. They're coming in on the south entrance." She points to a line of spectators over by a gate that leads to a dry grassy hill outside the stadium. Well, that explains why I haven't seen her family yet.

I make my way to the roped off finish, still scanning for the big beautiful blonde or the handlebar mustache. I meander through the crowd and I don't recognize anyone. There's like five different schools here today.

It's a good fifteen minutes before the crowd starts clapping. There's a cluster of figures on the horizon. They race down the hill, their legs moving like whips. I squint. I can't see Bella. She must not be in this pack. Then a tiny figure jets out between two gangly looking dudes. Her rainbow hair's a streak behind her and she's wearing her obligatory Riverside navy and white, the number 222 on her shirt. She's in the lead. Holy hell, she's going to win her race!

This long haired wank of a dude in Kennedy colors sneaks up behind her and she just smiles. They're close now, maybe fifty yards and she is full on sprinting. She's smiling and breathing, like this whole thing is a fucking joke. And this guy is struggling, there's pain plastered across his face. She keeps looking back because he's close but she's still smiling. She's playing with him. She lets him get close. Just enough to make things interesting. Just enough to get the crowd excited. I don't blame them, I feel it too. I start clapping along and before I know it, I'm shouting with the rest of them.

Just when he thinks he's got a chance, she lowers her head and surges forward. Like she's flying. She closes her eyes and raises her arms to the sky and she soars. She's the first one across, Kennedy guy just behind her and there's nothing but glee on her face.

And then it's over. She slows and shakes the hand of the Kennedy dude. She walks over to Ms. Campbell. She teaches Biology. I guess she's also the cross country coach. I never knew. How could I spend four years at a school and not even know about this?

Campbell hands her a water and she drinks and then spits it out. Then she catches me watching her and she beams. I jog over to her hesitantly, scanning for her parents. Where are they?

"Nobody's here," Bella says when I get close. I look around again, like it doesn't register what she said. Why wouldn't they be here? How could they miss this?

"I'm here." I shrug and she grins. A big smug as fuck grin that makes my heart huge.

"You're here." Bella nods and then wipes her forehead. "I'm all sweaty."

"I like you sweaty." I step closer and she lifts her shirt to wipe her face. She has a pierced belly button. What other piercings does she have? There's only the really interesting ones left now. "Do you want to get an ice cream or something?"

"I'm starving. I'm going to rinse off real quick. It'll just take a minute," Bella says and I shrug.

"Yeah, no problem. So, should I come with you or..." I smirk. Yeah, that's right. I've got game.

"Okay," she says, completely stone-faced and I'm stunned. Is she serious? She's not serious, she can't be. She's fucking with me.

"What?" I choke and she grins.

"Come on," she nods toward the gym and there's something wicked in her eyes. Something devilish. It's kind of scary. I kind of like it.

"You're not serious," I say like an idiot. "You're fucking with me. I'll just wait here."

She laughs and then saunters toward the locker room.

"Were you fucking with me?" I call after her and she spins.

"I guess you'll never know," she sings and then disappears into the brick building.

"Yeah, she was fucking with me," I say aloud and this lady dragging two kids behind her looks at me like I'm an animal.

"There are children present," she barks. "Hooligan!"

Who still uses the word hooligan? What is this, 1954? Hey, Andy Griffin called, he wants his insult back.

I watch the hurdles while I wait. I don't think I could get my leg over one of those things. They look like death traps for the long-legged. I wonder where Bella's parents are. They must have a good excuse to miss this. It's a big deal. Even the ABC7 news van is here.

Bella's back in a heartbeat. She's got on some black leggings and a polyester running jacket. She's got a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her wet hair is pulled into a haphazard rainbow bun.

"So this is a big deal, huh? And you're the winner. You won the whole race, beat all those other people." I pat her head and she squints up at me. It's pretty out, even though it's cold. Not a bad day for a race.

"I did," she says with an exhale that blows cold fog over the soft glow of the sun. "I'm the weiner."

I want to ask about her parents again, but it might be a sore subject. Maybe she'll bring up. I doubt it.

"Are you ready?" I ask and she nods.

"Hey, Bella!" Dude from Kennedy yells and then saunters over in his short shorts. It's okay because he has chicken legs. A well-muscled chicken, but still. I mean, yeah, I have chicken legs but I keep them covered. And I'm tall so it looks normal. This guy just looks like he needs a sandwich.

"Seth! You're a maniac, man. I thought you were going to take it easy on me," Bella jokes as he trots over to us. He looks up at me and I grin without teeth. It's my smart-ass smile.

"I thought I had you at the end. You were killing it," Seth says and then fixes his hair. Nope, didn't help. You still look like a dumbass.

"I trained on inclines. This was a walk in the park," Bella says and this douche keeps eyeballing me.

"No wonder. Once you took off, it was impossible to catch you," Seth says as he spots Bella's bag. Then me, then her bag again. Just ask, dude. It'd be quicker. "You leaving already?"

"Yeah, we're going to grab some food," Bella says and grabs my jacket sleeve. That's right, bitch. I'm with her. "This is Edward."

Now this guy is squinting and it all comes together. He recognizes me. Probably from Alice's show. Remind me to thank Bella later for leaving out my last name. That was solid.

"You're the brother. Alice Masen. You're her brother. I thought you got decapitated falling out of a tree or something," this dude says.

"Luckily they were able to reattach it. I might need a brain transplant, though. They're looking for a donor," I respond and he frowns. Bella snorts and then grabs my hand.

"My stomach is eating itself," she whines and I look at Seth and shrug. He gets the point and gives Bella a hug.

"Catch ya later," he says.

"I don't know, I'm really fast," she teases and he chuckles.

"Don't I know it," he winks and I don't like it. I mean, I'm right here. She's holding my hand.

"Don't I know it, as well," I interject and Seth gives a courtesy laugh. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

"Still starving," Bella tugs on my arm and I give Seth a wave and a big smile.

"Yeah, go refuel," he shouts back as we walk away. Man, poor guy just doesn't know when to let it go. It's over, dude. Cut your losses and save face.

"Oh, she'll refuel alright, if you know what I mean," I shout back and Bella bursts into loud laughter. The best kind.

"What a douche," I say and Bella pulls me through the crowd.

"Seth's harmless. Where to?" she says and I point across the street to my car.

"Harmless? He was obviously flirting with you." I argue as we wait for the little green walking man.

"Yeah, so? It's just flirting. Everyone likes flirting." The light gives us the go and we cross the street. I don't think flirting is harmless. Even when it's accidental. I accidentally flirted with Jessica for years. Believe me, that whole situation was not harmless.

"I think flirting can easily get out of control. It gives people ideas." I unlock the passenger door and hold it open for Bella. Because I'm a gentleman, bitches.

"What ideas? That you actually acknowledge their existence? That you, God forbid, like them? What's wrong with that? It makes people feel nice. It's better than acting like they're invisible," she says once I'm in the car. She unlaces her sneakers and kicks off her shoes.

"What are you doing?" I ask her as I motion to her feet. "This isn't a shoe free zone."

"Does this bother you?" she asks and then pulls off her socks. She wiggles her toes and puts her feet on the dash. My dash. Her feet are on my dashboard.

"I can't drive with your feet up there. It's grossing me out," I gag and she pokes at her toenail. "Is that...are you pulling off a toenail? Oh, God, I'm going to vomit."

I roll down the window because I can feel the bile rising in my throat. It's not like I can control it. It's a phobia. It's irrational. It's in the very definition.

"No, I didn't just pull off my toenail," she scoffs. "But this one fell off yesterday." She grins and shows me her middle toe, which is slightly longer than all her other toes. It makes me shudder.

"Oh gross," I mutter and avert my eyes but I can see her stretching her leg, her calf resting on the dash and virtually folding in half. "Bella! It's touching the window!"

"I know. Now you'll have a little reminder of me until you clean the inside of your car," she grins and then pulls her foot off the front window. Sure enough, there's her sweaty footprint pressed into the glass. "Something tells me it'll be there awhile."

Alright, so my car's not exactly a portrait of cleanliness. But what kind of seventeen year old would I be if my piece of shit car wasn't littered with CornNut wrappers and Dr. Pepper bottles? I like to pretend it's because I'm looking for a place to recycle them. Go green.

"Shut up," I reply and Bella grins. She puts her feet away, thank God, folding them up Buddha style and then leans over and kisses my cheek.

"I'm sorry. If it bothers you that much, I shouldn't tease you about it," she says and then kisses my cheek again. But she doesn't stop. Her lips move to my jaw and then my neck and I'm starting to feel a little tingly in my bathing suit area.

"It's okay. It's a ridiculous fear," I say and then her hands are everywhere, sliding over the back of my neck, her fingers tickling my scalp. Grazing over my chest and stomach and her mouth...God, her mouth. How is she even able to get in this position? Is she wearing her seatbelt?

"Nothing about you is ridiculous," she murmurs, her lips licking at my earlobe.

"My driving is getting ridiculous," I respond and she laughs and it makes me smile. She hugs my neck, her lips pressing into my cheek as she laughs.

"Maybe we should just hang out. Like at your house. Or mine. Or in your backseat." Her devious eyes gleam and she chews her lip in anticipation. Girl wants to get her freak on. With yours truly. Holla!

"I thought you were starving," I ask and she shrugs.

"I'm sure I can find something to put in my mouth," she says and my reaction is ridiculous. Yeah, didn't expect that one.

"Oh, shit," I sputter and she laughs. "Damn. Just...damn. Not harmless, Bella. Not harmless, at all!"

"I can't help it," she says innocently. "I like the way you handle your stick." She folds her hand over mine on the shift knob. Shit, it's on. I have sexy car innuendos for days.

"Oh yeah, baby. You want me to pop your clutch?"

"Just as long as you take a look under my hood."

"I'll fill your trunk good," I wink and she smacks my arm.

"Edward!" she scoffs and I beam. Yes! For once, I'm the one with the shocker! Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Hey! Alright! No stinky pinky then," I say and now she's blushing. It's adorable. I don't think I've ever seen Bella embarrassed. She always has all the answers, always so cool and composed. I like that I've caught her off-guard.

Even if there is silence for a whole three minutes after. Nothing but the soft lull of Celine Dion. I'm beginning to regret my propensity for ass jokes when she speaks.

"They never show," she says quietly. "Do you know how many debates I've had to go to? How many piano recitals? How many tennis matches? We never miss one."

I'm guessing she means her family so I don't interrupt. I know exactly how she feels. Ignored. Neglected. Invisible.

"I try not to blame my sister, you know. Because I know my parents are idiots. I know she can't help their actions. My parents suck at parenting. They're shit, Edward," she continues and I just let her talk.

"And not only to me. At least they let me do what I want. At least they don't care enough to make my life miserable. I wouldn't trade spots with Rose for anything." Bella looks at me now and it's just guilt. All wrapped up in my stomach. It's like a light bulb explodes in my head. Rose is Bella's Alice. And I bought into that shit. Just like her stupid, dumbshit parents.

"This really means a lot to me, that you came. That you're here. With me. To celebrate, or whatever," she smiles and for the second time today there's a break in her confidence. And maybe it's just the Celine Dion, but I feel like the king of the world.

I lean over and hug her. Right there at the stoplight. She clutches at the back of my shirt and it's a desperate kind of hug. Like she's holding on for life. She presses her face into my chest and she sighs, breathes real big and deep and calm. And she doesn't let go until the dude behind me honks.

"Well, you are the wiener," I say and she leans back in the seat.

"That's right, baby. And not one of those Costco wieners, either. A Portillo's. With the works." She'll eat the whole thing too. I have no doubt. "So, are you really afraid of my feet?"

"Yeah. That and mold. It's furry. I never have to clean out the fridge because it makes me sick."

We drive to the Portillo's in Forest Park and she tells me all about running. She runs a sub-eight minute mile. I don't even know what that means.

"I want to see what my body can do. It's amazing, really, what our bodies are capable of. We just never get the chance to find out because our heads get in the way." She wants to run a marathon.

"Twenty-six miles. Of running. For fun." I'm skeptical.

"That's exactly the mentality I'm talking about. I mean, people piss themselves. They lose all bowel function and they keep running. It's all a mind game."

"Man, that sounds appealing," I say and she just laughs.

"I used to be a gymnast," she says. I'm not surprised. Especially after that flippity-do-da shit she pulled last weekend. Plus, she's really bendy.

"Used to be? You mean you're not still?" I ask and she shakes her head.

"Nah. I was good too. You should have heard my dad, talking Olympics and shit. That's when I started running. There was no way in hell I was going to literally break my neck so I could be his honor badge. I stopped going. My mom would drop me off at practice and I would run home."

"Defiance. I like it."

"Running is nothing like gym. I make my own schedule. I push myself as hard as I want. I train when I want and I set my own finish lines. Once I tasted freedom, there was no going back." She fiddles with the radio.

"That's how it was for me. After the-" I make and whistling sound with my mouth and then a noisy crash. "It was like things shook loose, you know. Everything fell into place. I could never go back to being that pathetic loser again."

"You were never a pathetic loser, Edward," Bella says, quiet and serious. "Perception is relative. It all depends on who's looking."

"Nobody looked at me before," I argue. "I was invisible."

"People saw you. You just didn't see them."

"Yeah, not the right people," I mutter. Jessica saw me, especially when she needed help or a fall guy. Jake, Ben, even Mike; they all saw me when it was convenient. When they needed someone to drive them home or to do their homework. I've never had someone notice me just for me. Not until now.

We drive through Portillos and get our dogs and without even thinking, I drive to the airport. I drive down that vacant dirt road and park outside the chain link fence. We eat and watch the planes and talk about stupid shit, like the plausibility of an airborne zombie virus. Then she drops a bomb on me.

"I can't wait to get out of this city," she says, all nonchalant-like.

"What do you mean?" I ask. I understand what she said. I'm just going into panic mode and it's interrupting coherent thought. I don't want her to get out of this city.

"I want to go somewhere. Leave on one of those planes and only come back on holidays to visit. There's a lot of things in this world I need to see from my perspective." She leans back in her seat and then looks over at me, serious as a heart attack. "Aren't there places you are dying to get to?"

"I never really thought about it, I guess. Getting out never really seemed like an option." I shrug and she sits up straight and turns in her chair to face me.

"Okay, if you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?"

"I don't know, Comic Con," I answer and she grins.

"That's a good answer," she says and then sits back in her seat. "I'd go to the moon. I'd love to see our planet from the moon."

"You are the strangest, most awesome person I've ever known," I tell her and she beams. I knew she'd love that. Plus, it's true.

"Do you want to come over?" she asks, right as a plane rattles over head. The windows shake and I jump.

"No one's there, in case you were wondering," she says with big knowing eyes. She buckles her seatbelt and that's signal enough for me. I start the engine and start down the dusty road. "My dad's away on business and my mom has Bunco tonight. And Rose is probably at Emmett's or something. She's never home."

I drive and I contemplate. Bella's inviting me to her empty house. I could, hypothetically, be having sex in the next four hours. I mean, I'm not saying that's why I'm going over there. I'm just saying it could happen. Hypothetically.

Holy mother of God.

No. I'm taking it off the table. Even if she starts, you know, seducing me, I'm not going to do it. It'd be a total dick move. Oh, I'll fool around. But I'm not going to let her lose her virginity in her bedroom when her mom could walk in at any minute. It's too typical. And Bella deserves spectacular.

But still. It's hypothetically possible.

Just like an airborne zombie virus.

By the time we get to her house, I'm wound up like a spring. She lazily drops her bag on the steps just inside the front door. Kicks off her shoes and tears off her jacket. I linger by the door until she motions for me to follow. She walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge. She offers me a bottled water and I accept. So I have something to do with my hands.

She leads me up the stairs. Just like the last time I was here. In that perfect room with the perfectly vacuumed carpet. She stops at the first door on the left and then turns and squishes up her face.

"I'm kind of messy." Like it's a confession and I shrug.

"I'd kind of be disappointed if you weren't," I respond and she slides through the door. I follow and she's right. Her room is a disaster.

Black curtains drape across the window, interspersed with tiny beads of all colors, little prisms that shoot beams of multicolored light all over the room. Rainbows. Real fucking rainbows are splattered all over her bedroom.

The walls are covered with posters. The Pretenders. Led Zeppelin. The Sex Pistols. And movies too. Back to the Future. The Neverending Story. Labyrinth. There's like six pair of sneakers shoved under her bed, only they don't really fit. Probably because there's other shit under there. There's a collection of troll dolls on her dresser and dozens of race medals hang on her mirror. And the makeup. Sweet mother of God, the makeup. Canister upon canister. Vial upon vial. An artillery of palettes and swabs and brushes and creams. It's like a toolbox. For your face.

Her bed is covered in books. Paperbacks, leatherbound novels, glossy torn jackets and frayed bindings. There's a guitar in the corner next to a cluttered desk and a computer humming along and blinking red and blue LED lights. And it's not a Mac, thank you jeebus. It'd be a tragedy if we weren't technologically compatible.

There's a handful of shredded magazines by her desk and a box full of clippings. Makeup, hairstyles, shoes and torn stockings. T-shirts and mini-skirts, cut up and safety pinned. She rushes to knock the books off her bed and straightens the covers then tosses a rumpled sleep shirt into a virtually unused hamper.

"There's no mold, I promise," she grins and then plops down in the black spinning desk chair. I sit on her bed and pick up one of her books. _The Poetry of Robert Frost_.

"You like poetry?" I ask and she nods.

"I like that every word is important. Every word was hand-selected for a reason." She spins in her chair. It's making me dizzy.

"That's why I hate it. If I misinterpret one word, the whole thing's blown straight to hell." She stops, her eyebrows pinched together.

"You hate poetry?" She asks and it's not even all judgy like. She's genuinely curious.

"Yeah. It's confusing and subjective as shit. And depressing. I read all of _The Bell Jar_. Sylvia Plath was a whack job." Bella grabs the book from me and flips through the pages.

"Read this," she says and I look at her. She shoves the book in my chest. "Just read it!"

I sigh and look at the page. _The Road Not Taken._ I've heard it before. Anyone who's ever seen an AT&T commercial has heard it. I think it's a prerequisite for Inspirational Quotes 101.

"Just read it. Out loud." She sits next to me and reads over my shoulder. Her boob is on my arm. It's one of the reasons I don't protest.

"I'm not reading it out loud," I say and Bella laughs. She leans her arm on my thigh and I read it. I read the damn poem. Because she wants me to.

"Did you really read it?" she asks after a couple minutes of silence.

"Nope," I say and toss the book. She scoffs and shoves me and I swear out of the sheer habit that comes from being friends with a bunch of pricks, I shove her back. Not hard or anything, but she's surprised. She squeals and tries to push me but she's got nothing on my abnormally long arms. I hold her at bay. With one hand. On her head. She's swinging at air and it's the funniest damn thing I've seen in a long time.

I can't stop laughing and she uses this to her advantage. She ducks and then throws her entire body into me. Knocks me clean off the bed and right into her dresser. Vials clatter to the floor. Magazine clippings float through the air. Makeup gone astray. And Bella's a heaping mass of giggling hysteria lying on the floor beside me. She recovers before I do mostly because she can maneuver in such a small space. I'm like a three point turn in an alley way, awkwardly wedged between the bedframe and the dresser.

She stands over me, a portrait of triumph. Her rainbow hair sticking out of her bun like a mad scientist and I smile because she's fucking cute. She crouches and puts her hands on my face and then she drops her mouth to mine. She's slow, her lips pull and her hands slide and she sighs into me.

"Why does he say "with a sigh"? If this less traveled road is so awesome, why would he be sighing?" I say and her face is light. Pure prismatic light.

"I knew it," she grins and then she's crawling on top of me. She's fast, her mouth moves and I struggle to keep up. Her tongue licks at my lips and you bet your ass I let her in. I spread my hands across her back and through her hair and her breath is hot and quick. It's good. So incredibly good. And then she's pulling off her shirt.

I fucking love poetry.

"Bella?" I ask. Not that I didn't think about this hypothetically happening just hours ago.

"I'm hot," she says and she's wearing a thin tank top underneath. Layers. She's wearing layers. I'm glad I didn't embarrass myself or anything. Please note, sarcasm intended.

She smiles again and she shifts and then stops. Because I'm pretty sure she felt it. Yeah, I have a boner. It's completely expected under these conditions!

I'm thinking she's going to back away very slowly so not to disturb the one eyed trouser snake. But she just licks her lips and swivels her hips. I cannot be held responsible for any of my actions from this point on. She's grinding her ass into my incredibly erect penis and she's doing it on purpose.

I want to touch her thighs so badly, my fingers are literally twitching but I don't want to just dive right in. I know, it's just a leg but you have to see these legs to understand what I'm talking about. They're downright sculpted. Like her calves should be permanently oiled up. I kind of want her to walk around in her underwear more so I can see how her muscle flexes just above her knee. Is that creepy? It's creepy, isn't it?

She's still kissing me so I decide to go for it. I lightly rest my hands on her knees and her breath stops as soon as I touch her legs. I spread my fingers over her knees and she falters in her rhythm. Her hips slide and she grinds down harder. Faster. Breathing and gasping. She likes this too.

She lets my hands creep up her thighs and her whole body reacts. She pushes her hands up under my shirt, her fingers tickling my stomach and her mouth still moves. There's no hesitation, no holding back. Like she's not even thinking. Just feeling. Like it's the most important thing she's ever felt. It's going to make my chest explode.

Or my pants. Seriously. It's taking every restraint I have not to just blow a load right here in my pants. I think she knows too because I keep tensing up every time I feel that surge. Plus, I'm wearing circles into her leggings.

"Oh God." I try to mouth it noiselessly but instead it comes out all squeaky. Bella touches my face again, her eyes intense.

"Let it go, Edward," she says against my mouth and then her fingers are working at the button on my pants.

"Bella..." I try to stop her and she smiles.

"Stop thinking. Just feel," she says and I close my eyes. This counts as just fooling around, right? It's just fooling around.

So I stop thinking. And I feel. I feel all over. Her hair. The nape of her neck. The curve of her ass. Her hip. Her belly button ring. Her collarbone. The ripple of bone protecting her heart, from the curve of her breast to the peak of taut flesh. The heat of blood coursing through her warms me. Her lips. Her tongue. Her mouth. I feel her everywhere. Her hands are on me now and my head empties of thought and I'm controlled by my senses. It overwhelms and then explodes. Explosions everywhere. Like a goddamn mine field. In my groin. In my head. In my heart. Like all the parts of me separated and are trying to get back together. But I'll never be the same. Not now.

I try to breath and then I feel her belly against mine. Her chest rises and falls with me. The tops of her thighs press against mine. She crushes me completely. She inches up so our foreheads rest together.

"We match now," she says, her hot breath on my cheek. I feel her toes pinching my leg and I laugh. She turns her cheek and looks into me. Her face is full of thought and scattered light and rainbow hair. I push it away and I touch her. Her lips. Her nose. I don't even know why. I just want to so I do it.

"We match always," I murmur before I can decide if this is a lame thing to say. She can argue all she wants but it's only a matter of time before she falls madly in love with me.

I don't need the label. I know exactly what this is.

...

**A/N:**

You are all wieners in my book. If you could see me now, I'd be doing an interpretive dance to express my love. Anyone else feel like Cyrus should have won SYTYCD? Him and Eliana are my OTP.

**LightStarDusting** beta's and makes me want to watch Step Up movies.

Thank you for reading!


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